


I'm Bound by the Life You Left Behind

by Littlefeather



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF, Alayne Sansa, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Comfort, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gravedigger Sandor, Post - A Feast for Crows, Post-Quiet Isle, Potential Spoilers, Romance, Secret Marriage, Soul Bond, Warging, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:32:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 90,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlefeather/pseuds/Littlefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A/U Regretting her missed opportunity, Sansa Stark dreams of Sandor Clegane while living at the Eyrie with Petyr Baelish. Some events may stray from the order in cannon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware my Sandor is post Quiet Isle characterization in this story. I have utilized both characterizations and plot design of ASOIAF book canon as well as Game of Thrones TV show elements and tagged this story accordingly.
> 
> Thank you to all the guests who leave kudos-I'm glad you like it :)

It is always during the velvet black of night when he comes to her. Illuminated by the eerie green glow of Wildfire, the room fills with his presence, his shadow slowly approaches her. He is so close, she feels him rather than sees him. Closer still, she smells his masculine scent; it is almost as though she is able to taste him now.

Gripping her chin with his large hand, his huge form leans over her body and pins her to the mattress, his knees resting on either side of her hips. His deep gray eyes meet hers and she recoils from the rage she finds there.

"I could keep you safe. No one will touch you or I'll kill them." His words roll like distant thunder in her ears.

The smell of smoke, wine and blood permeate the night air. His eyes reflect in the darkness like the Hound he is. She is too afraid to move and too afraid to look away.

"I'll have that song, Little Bird," he rasps, his voice as harsh as metal scaping across stone.

His breath burns hot against her cheek, the smell of wine fills her nose as he speaks. Sharp whiskers from his beard scratch her neck as he moves closer to her still. _Is he going to kiss me?_  Her mind races. The deafening sound of her own heart beat drums in her ears and she is certain he can hear it too as close as they are now.

His takes in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her hair. The massive muscles of his thighs and arms press her deeper into the bed and Sansa feels strong arms pulling her body close to his chest, grinding the hardness of his manhood into her thigh.

Trying to gasp for air beneath him, Sansa's chest heaves as she struggles to control her breathing. Her developing breasts strain against the bodice of her gown, drawing his eyes away from her face. The Hound's heated gaze slowly takes in her figure and drawing his lips into a wicked grin.

He radiates heat everywhere. His eyes and body fill her with his warmth. Igniting fire everywhere their bodies touch, Sansa is powerless to resist him-and the young woman wouldn't even try if she could, the feeling is so delicious. Spreading slowly throughout her body, his heat consumes her, bringing a rush of wetness surging to her thighs. She is unable to resist squirming beneath him and he growls low at the feeling of her body rubbing against his.

Her movements only encourage him. He presses down even tighter against her in response, his large swollen member pressing urgently against her woman's place. Sansa gasps as she continues wiggling against him. They lie flush together now, their bodies drenched in sweat. Deep rumbling laughter echoes in his chest, filling her own body with its sound.

Fear and desire parch her throat. Weakly she begins her song to him; it is the Mother's Hymn, not Florian and Jonquil as he requested. His chest expands against her breasts as he draws in a deep breath.

Sighing softly, he then relaxes, soothed by the sound of her voice. Instinctively her hand moves to his cheek, cupping it tenderly while she finishes her song. His tears wet her hands as she strokes his face.

"Little Bird," he rasps low. Sansa feels the words he speaks, the sound of his voice filling what little space remains between them.

"Sandor," she whispers softly. His entire body shivers at the sound of her speaking his name. "Please...please take me away from here. I want to be with you, please, just take me from here."

* * *

Sansa awakens with a start, the damp bed linens clinging to her. A cold sweat has soaked her nightgown and her woman's place is wet and thobbing with unquenched desire. Bitter tears well in her eyes as the familiar sight of her rooms at the Eyrie come into view.

She has longed for him ever since the night the Blackwater burned. For the past few months, her heart and body painfully ache for him. The night frees her of her unremitting grief, but each morning brings the realization that it was only a dream. Sandor Clegane will only visit her in these fevered dreams now, for the Hound is dead.

It has been a fortnight since word reached the Eyrie while she and Petyr broke their fast that fateful crisp autumn morning. Lady Brienne of Tarth came to them with the news. Podrick Payne, Tyrion's former squire accompanied her on the long journey.

A highborn female knight, Lady Brienne was the first and only one of her kind. Arya instantly sprang into her mind. Sansa knows she would love to meet Lady Brienne. She was a startling combination of many things-large and powerful and yet kind and gentle. Sansa had never seen a female knight and took an instant liking to her.

Returning from their visit to the Quiet Isle, she decided to inform the Lord Protector of the Vale of the Hound's death. She had slain the imposter, the so-called butcher of Saltpans. The Elder brother had told her the Hound had been buried on the Quiet Isle for the past four months. Sandor was now at peace.

Brienne told the story with a delicacy Sansa was surprised to discover in the battle-hardened woman. Sansa's stomach heaved, the blood drained from her face as Brienne spoke. The strain of hiding her true identity and the constant fear of living with Lord Baelish coupled with the knowledge Sandor was gone forever finally took its toll in one horrific moment.

Violently plunging into the black chasm of overpowering grief, the sudden anguish robbed Sansa of her strength and will to live the moment Brienne's words fell on her ears. Fighting to conceal her immense pain, her anguish finally got the better of her and she vomitted right at the table before fainting dead away, much to Brienne's distress and Petyr's disgust. She remained abed for four days and neither slept nor ate, consumed in darkness.

Sandor had found peace at last while her own hell continues onward. A never ending cycle of misery has been her life for over a year now with no end in sight.

Survival has been her primary goal ever since Joffrey held her captive in the Red Keep. Now, the unbearable knowledge she will never see Sandor again is her only focus. Sandor is dead and her opportunity to tell him of the love she discovered for him on the night of the battle was now buried alongside him somewhere on the Quiet Isle.


	2. The Other Side

She comes to him every night when he closes his eyes. Her memory comes unbidden,  her spectre filling his mind and heart with regret and longing, robbing him of peace and restful sleep.

He can still see her beautiful face, her mouth curling into a whisper of a smile as she shyly glances his way the day of the Hand's tourney. Seeing her again fills him with a feeling he would name happiness, if he had ever experienced it.

Thoughts of her crystal blue eyes and fiery hair are his constant companions. Sometimes, if he tries hard enough, he can even remember the lavender scent of her hair. She haunts his fitful dreams each and every night; the daytime is no better. As he digs a never ending series of graves, he remembers a time when guarding her was his only concern.

In King's Landing, whoring and drinking until he passed out was his preferred remedy to forget about his Little bird. His mind goes back to her bruised ivory skin, and Meryn ripping her lovely dress to shreds while the court cheered him on. He regrets not killing that fucking whoreson-maybe one day he'll get his chance-for the Little bird's sake he hopes he does.

Inevitably comes the memory of the night of the Blackwater battle. Though much time has passed, he still remembers each and every detail. Lying with her underneath him on her bed, her soft supple body pressed tightly against his own while her small delicate fingers stroked his face. Her touch comforted his soul; she is the only person who even tried to consol him. Lost in his thoughts, he can practically feel her beneath him again and his cock hardens painfully at the memory.

In his heart he knows it is only a dream, but each night he cannot stop himself from reaching out to her, it all feels so very real. When he opens his eyes she is gone and once again he is alone, with only his memories and the occasional errant mouse for company. And the shit of it all is that he doesn't even have any wine to take off the edge.

Whoever the buggering bastard was that said time makes people forget obviously had never met his beautiful Little bird. Time only reinforces his memories of her. The longing in his heart and body only becomes stronger with each passing day he is apart from her.

Despite having been among the brothers on the Quiet Isle for four months now, Sandor awakens every morning with a start, never sure where he is or how he got there. Confusion and anger cloud his mind until he recognizes the barren quarters of his cell in the sept. He enjoys the peace of anonimity he maintains here on the Quiet Isle but, try as he might, he cannot deny his heart still burns for Sansa and the bloodshed of battle.

He longs for relief, has even gone so far as talking to Elder Brother about her on various occasions, though he chooses to keep his bloodlust to himself. Always the same answer comes from Elder Brother's lips: "You have taken no vows, Brother Digger. There is no shame in going to her if you should so choose. You said yourself she was a very devoted young woman. Your dreams may be the Seven calling on you to help her."

Sandor isn't sure he believes all the shit Elder Brother shovels his way but he cannot deny he is irresistibly drawn to her. The feeling grows and continues to intensify with each passing day-whether it is love or lust getting the better of him, he doesn't know.

Sometimes as he works he fantasizes about jumping onto Stranger's back and returning to King's Landing for her. He always forgets the brothers renamed him Driftwood, something about blasphemy. _What a stupid fucking name for a warhorse_. He doesn't even know if she is still there and the last he heard she had been married off to the fucking Imp, of all people. _My beautiful sweet innocent lLttle bird, married off to that perverted whoring runt_. Rage fills his stomach each time he thinks of it.

One day a large woman dressed as a knight rides up while he digs yet another grave, with Elder Brother supervising as usual. _Will the poor dead bastards that occupy these graves notice if it isn't exactly even?_

The woman claims she is on an errand for Catelyn Stark. _Is she out of her mind? Lady Stark is dead. She must be one tough broad to make it to the Quiet Isle on her own,_ he thinks as he looks her over, his scars hidden by his cowl. Her name is Brienne, she says. He recognizes the young man with her as being the Imp's squire Podrick-he remembers him from the battle of the Blackwater.

She makes small talk with Elder Brother. Finally she gets around to her point and asks about the Hound. "Do you have the oldest Stark girl Sansa here at the septry?"

_Sansa? The wolf bitch was the Stark I had, and she had run off and left me for dead. If I did have Sansa, I sure as hell would never tell you._

Sandor covers his face with the hood of his cowl and continues working in silence, unable to resist eavesdropping on their conversation. Elder Brother answers her as truthfully as possible. "The Hound is dead. I buried him myself. Sandor is at peace."

 _Nice sidestepping Elder Brother,_ he wants to laugh out loud.

The female knight looks thoughtful, says she's going to kill whoever is doing all the raping in the Saltpans wearing his former helm. _About time someone did_.

"Do you know what may have happened to the girl?" Elder Brother asks innocently, never once looking at him. Sandor is so shocked he spills dirt on Brienne's feet.

Brienne only steps further away. _She's as ugly as the Imp but she can't be all bad_.

"Careful, Brother Digger," Elder Brother chides. "He is a novice and remains silent outside of the sept, my lady. Allow me to apologize on his behalf."

 _Shut the fuck up and let her speak!_   He screams inside. Only a few moments pass but it feels like hours, waiting for news of his Little bird.

Brienne smiles and pauses a moment. "She may be with Lord Baelish, it is said he is living with his bastard daughter Alayne in the Eyrie. I aim to go and check it out for myself."

Elder Brother nods and then asks, "You think the girl living with him may be the oldest Stark girl?"

Brienne shrugs, "I serve Lady Catelyn. She has lost her two youngest to Theon Greyjoy and King Robb was killed by the Freys. Arya is still missing, presumed dead. I cannot return to her empty handed, Elder Brother. It may be a long shot but I have to try."

 _Poor Little Bird, all her family is gone now, excepting the bastard Snow of the Night's Watch._ He wonders if she knows about all of their deaths. _If anyone can survive it's the wolf-bitch. Now to top it all Littlefucker may be holding her against her will._ Sandor's stomach drops at the thought. _Littlefucker is even worse than the Imp._

The squire speaks up. "I think it might be her Elder Brother," he speaks softly. "I remember Lady Sansa from King's Landing. I've seen the girl Alayne, she could pass for Sansa's twin sister-only she has brown hair."

Littlefucker didn't have any bastards that Sandor remembers. _He always kept a enough moontea to stock ten whorehouses in King's Landing. He's too smart to let some random woman show up with an unwanted surprise-who is this girl he claims as his?_   Sandor knows whores dye their hair in order to make extra coin. _Littlefucker no doubt knows that trick too. Brown hair or not, could it be...?_

More dirt slips sloppily off his shovel. Elder Brother glances briefly at Sandor before saying, "Yes, word of that travesty even reached us here on the Isle. You say you serve Lady Catelyn. It was our understanding she had died alongside her son."

Brienne shifts on her feet and clears her throat. "Please don't think me sacriligous, Elder Brother. Lady Catelyn was in fact brought back from the dead by some sorcery of Lord Beric Dondarrion, who gave his life for hers. She returned calling herself Lady Stoneheart; I can't bring myself to call her that just yet. She will not rest until she avenges her family. Forgive me, I don't claim to understand it all. I only seek to find her daughters."

Elder Brother coughs and nods his head solemnly.

 _That crazy Catelyn! What would dear old Ned think of her now?_   He is well acquainted with Dondarrion and his flaming fucking sword and his arm bears the scars to prove it. Neither he nor Gregor could keep that fucking warlock in the ground. _So he finally put an end to it himself for Catelyn Stark_ , Sandor marvels to himself, shaking his head. Suddenly he freezes: his disbelief at this turn of events temporarily caused him to forget he isn't supposed to be listening to them.

Lady Brienne doesn't seem to notice. She asks for a blessing for her and her squire. Elder Brother says a few words and makes the sign of the Seven over them both, then she and the boy turn to leave.

Sandor breathes a sigh of relief as the sound of the horses hooves fades into the distance. Elder Brother stands beside him, staring him long and hard in the face, searching his eyes for his reaction. The mask of indifference he wore in King's Landing spreads over him reflexively, hiding his inner thoughts. _I don't owe you everything_ , Sandor growls to himself.

Satisfied nothing is amiss, Elder Brother turns back toward the sept and Sandor continues diggging.


	3. A Memorial to Lost Love

Sleep is hard to come by for her now. When Sansa finally nods off Sandor is waiting for her in her dreams. Joy fills her heart in her sleep, giving her reprieve from her anguish. Each morning when she awakens, the wound of Sansa's grief bleeds anew. Her dreams of him are so real that when she opens her eyes it is as though she is hearing the news of his death for the first time.

She is losing herself a little at a time in more ways than one. In a moon's turn she has lost so much weight that choosing a gown that fits has become a daily chore. Her maids say nothing, only exchange worried glances as they hurriedly take in her gowns. Their concern is not for her; their only fear is Lord Baelish. He does not like hearing that despite the rich delicacies that appear daily she is still dwindling away. She has long since stopped caring what he says or thinks, or if he even speaks to her anymore.

A woman grown of five and ten, she is now down to the same size of the new grown-up gown her mother gifted her on her twelfth nameday. She lets her thoughts drift back to that happy time while her maids alter her gown before she breaks her fast. Petyr does not like being made to wait but she doesn't care. She has been taking many of her meals in her quarters and realizes Petyr will not tolerate her behavior indefinitely.

Right before the family left Winterfell, she celebrated her last happy nameday. It feels like a lifetime ago and yet it is still so fresh in her mind. She can still feel her mother's gentle touch brushing her once deep auburn hair to a rich gleam. Dutifully she listens to Septa Mordane lecturing her about a lady's behavior as her mother pulls out the beautiful dress with a huge smile. Sansa had never seen such a lovely color and squeals in delight as she pulls it on.

“It is called periwinkle blue. I chose it to match your eyes,” her mother says merrily, delighting in her daughter's excitement.

Next she sees her father's gray eyes twinkling proudly as he leads her by the arm toward her surprise feast. Robb laughs as he gallantly brings in her nameday lemoncake. Jon steals his thunder by reaching out and swiping some frosting as he passes the family table. Arya chases Rickon and Bran around the table until Septa Mordane takes them outside. They are all only a memory to Sansa now. She is the lone wolf, the rest of her pack is dead. Bitterness fills her heart, grief ruining her happy memories.

She is jolted out of her reverie by a sharp knock on the door. Her maid Jenny opens it while Sansa ties her gown. It is Petyr naturally, probably hoping to catch her undressed.

“Will you come to the table this morning Sweetling?” His voice drips with the honey of false concern. It makes no difference to him whether she eats or not-he only cares what the other lords of the Vale think of her drastic change in appearance.

 _Sweetling_. The sound of his pet name for her makes her ill. _How can he possibly expect me to eat at the very table she heard of Sandor's death? Is it any wonder I am losing weight?_   He is not ignorant of the cause of her weight loss, he is far too wily to not discern the origin of her suffering but still he continues the charade of pretending he doesn't know Sandor's death is the source of her misery.

“Yes,” she answers automatically, "I'll be right down.” As she passes the mirror she sees the mask of courtesy on her face. Her voice sounds just as it did in King's Landing. _”It was well struck, Your Grace.”_ The very same tone echoes in her memory.

Sandor protected her by backing her story to Joffrey. “The girl is right, what a man sows on his nameday, he reaps all year,” his voice rasps in her ear. Though far away from that place and her tormentor long dead, her stomach still twists into a familiar nauseating knot as she remembers Joffrey's expression at Sandor's words.

It would feel so good to scream at the top of her voice that she hates him, she wishes she had never come to the Eyrie. Tyrion was not the husband she would have chosen but at least he was not the monster that Petyr is, despite being a Lannister. One day she hopes she will muster the courage to tell him she sees him for the pathetic worm that he is, that the only fool in the Eyrie is none other than the Lord Protector of the Vale himself.

Gliding down the staircase toward the dining hall, she carefully avoids his upturned face as she sits down. If she keeps porridge in her mouth he will not try to kiss her, so she draws out the meal as long as necessary for him to give up each and every day. Baelish has uncomfortably cast her in the role of both daughter and potential lover. It is his depraved twist on Jaimie and Cersei's perversion, no doubt he lived with the Lannister lions long enough to accept their twisted relationship as natural.

His daily overtures of intimacy sicken her to the core. No matter how she tries to avoid it he never fails to kiss her on the mouth. Always cramming his slimy tongue down her throat, he insists on grinding his disease-shriveled manhood against her in his fevered passion. He would have killed Shae himself if he knew she had told Sansa about his condition. He still thinks her an ignorant child, that she does not understand what goes on inside his brothels-as if she could stay ignorant of such things married to Tyrion.

She always manages to pull away before she vomits out of disgust and fear. _He thinks I don't know he's pretending I am my mother._ Only her aunt had been foolish enough not to discover his sick obsesssion. _Or perhaps she had been too horny to care,_ Sansa thinks at times. When she thinks these thoughts, she cannot deny the influence her time spent with Cersei had on her. When confronted with the undeniable proof her Aunt Lysa had lashed out at her instead and Petyr Baelish killed a second member of her family as a consequence of her recklessness.

Though this truth remains unspoken, they both know Sansa will never be free of him. The terror of what her life has become fills the awkward space between them. Now isolated at the Eyrie, she has no way of escaping him. Maintaining her veil of ladylike politeness is essential for survival and a measure of freedom and Sansa wears her courtesy like armor around him. Baelish should not mistake her courtesy for ignorance however; she discovered long ago he is responsible for betraying her father. Given the opportunity she is determined to get away from him by any means necessary.

Last night after Petyr passed out from drink she took the white cloaks Sandor had given her from her chest of drawers. Before leaving her bedchamber she buries them along with a small trowel under her needlepoint in her large sewing case.

“I'm going to sew in the godswood now,” she calls into his solar. Being in Littlefinger's company for so long, Sansa's lies melt off her tongue easily now.

“Wait, why are you doing needlepoint there? Surely the light here is better suited for it.”

Sansa has anticipated he would protest. “No, silly. I am making a scene of the godswood for your solar. Now you have ruined the surprise!” She pouts at him. He can never resist her pouting.

“I am sorry Sweetling, I hope you are not too disappointed.” He purrs as he sidles up to her.

 _A quick peck or two should satisfy him,_ she thinks before dotting his cheek with the chastest of kisses. Turning to leave, she hurries out of the Eyrie before he can follow her. Her devotion was well known to everyone in King's Landing and so her trips to the godswood do not interest him.

For the past four weeks she makes the daily trip into the hauntingly beautiful godswood just outside the walls of the Eyrie, seeking solice in the faith of her forefathers. She prays to the new gods of her mother while she kneels before the Heart tree as well. Formerly she would have thought this unthinkable but she is desperate and there isn't a sept for many miles. Both the old gods and the new know better than anyone of her suffering and she is certain they understand that she means well and will hear her prayers favorably.

Deeper into the godswood next to the Heart tree lies a beautiful pool. Its deep stormy gray water reminds her Sandor's eyes. She finds herself spending hours watching the sunlight reflecting on the still pool. It gives her comfort to imagine she is looking into his eyes here. She hopes that he can see her wherever he may be now, and that he knows how deeply she misses him.

Casting a quick glance around her she takes out the trowel, digging a hole next to the pool. It will be her secret memorial to her beloved. Here she will visit Sandor; it will be the place she feels free to love him openly. Brushing away the excess dirt, she carefully folds Sandor's cloak from the night of the battle and places it inside a yellow satin bag she has embrodiered with the three black dogs of the Clegane sigil. Wrapping it in plain black woolen cloth she gently lays it into the makeshift grave, covering it thoroughly and placing rocks over the top so it will go undetected. Petyr never comes here and it is her only refuge.

She kneels down and prays to the Heart tree that Sandor will feel her love for him in the afterlife. She asks for the old gods' forgiveness for not telling him of her love while he was with her. Knowing Sandor had kept no gods does not deter her. He was a Westerman, the Seven will hear her prayers for him as well. She makes the sign of the Seven over his memorial and prays to the Stranger that Sandor will know peace with him, and if he should see fit that he will allow Sandor to return to her.

It is the prayer of lonely desperation, she knows, but in her profound grief she feels it can't hurt to ask the Stranger for this extraordinary gift just the same. If he will not return Sandor to her, she asks the Stranger to reunite her with him in the afterlife. It is all she has to look forward to now. All of her loved ones await her there and she longs to join them, for then she will no longer be alone.

She wraps herself in the Kingsguard cloak Sandor tore off the day Joffrey had her beaten in front of everyone. He had left his post beside the king and gently covered her nakedness, not caring the whole court witnessed his tender display.

She realizes now she never even had the chance to tell him how much she loved him for it, and for so many other things too. Laying down on his memorial she sobs uncontrollably in all-consuming anguish as the afternoon autumn sunlight slowly fades into darkness.


	4. An Undeniable Connection

After another long night dreaming of Sansa, Sandor rises at dawn and draws water to fill the large wooden tub in his room. Hard and aching with need, he eases into the bath. The cool water only temporarily quenches his heated passion for her. It has been a long time since he's taken a woman and thinking of the little bird daily builds his desire to a fever pitch.

Typically he would find relief by drinking, whoring or taking himself in hand. There are no women for miles around. During his training Elder Brother made it clear there is no alcohol to be found on the Quiet Isle and the faith of the Seven frowns on self abuse.

“Self abuse?” he remembers laughing ruefully. “Those poor bastards are doing something wrong if it feels like abuse!”

Elder Brother is very patient with Sandor. He has learned to keep most of his thoughts to himself as a token of gratitude, though struggling daily to meet the standards of a faith he does not share annoys him to no end.

Dipping his head down while rinsing his hair, he catches his reflection in the water. Shoveling dirt and digging graves has left his arms, back and chest well-muscled; however the rest of his body has grown markedly weaker the past months he has spent recuperating from his grievous injuries. He is far past being the warrior he was the last time he saw his Little bird.

Skilled at healing, Elder Brother took him into his care and cut out all of the infection in his leg. He used a wide variety of herbs and teas made from bark, as well as many other things unfamiliar to Sandor as treatment for his remaining ills. All of it either tasted or smelled like shit, and if he had any strength left he would have knocked him cold for forcing such foulness down his throat. Over time, the medicines worked and Sandor is grateful for Elder Brother's help. It is more than anyone has done for him since his beloved sister passed away.

In recent months Elder Brother has been teaching him how to identify and use herbs and bark for healing. Sandor is pleased to discover he is a quick study in an area other than fighting. The deep gash in his leg has healed well but when he least expects it the slightest movement sends a sharp stabbing pain down his thigh. Elder Brother says it is the scar tissue from cutting out the infection. Sandor doesn't care what the fuck it is, he just wishes it would stop.

Remembering how fat King Robert grew after the war ended, the change in his body is no more than Sandor expected after two months spent in bed. Actually he never even expected to survive, let alone stay in the same shape he had been in prior to the fight at the inn. She made him beg for the gift of mercy but in spite of his taunts, the wolf bitch rode off and left him to die. Sandor came about as near as anyone to doing just that, and if it wasn't for Elder Brother's care, Sandor is sure he would occupy the symbolic grave marked for the Hound.

Sandor retreats further into himself as time passes. The man rarely seeks out conversation with anyone anymore and prefers brooding in silence to associating with the other men. Day after day spent digging graves gives Sandor plenty of time to think. He is supposed to be repenting though he's not sure how grave digging qualifies as repentance. Elder Brother tells him it is to remind him of the lives he's taken over the years. Sandor cannot remember even half the people he's killed but one thing he's certain of-never once did he bury any one of them, or even give them a second afterward.

The only people grave digging reminds him of is his sister, his mother and father, all of whom where taken from him by Gregor. Even though he was very young, he can still remember the days he spent burying each of them. Sandor's only solace was planning his brother's death in gruesome detail as he worked. In the end, an enormous female direwolf tore into his throat and ended his miserable life, denying Sandor the satisfaction of spilling Gregor's blood.

He is vaguely pleased by the primal brutality in the manner of his death and it amuses him at times to imagine the animal might have been the wolf bitch's direwolf. Now that would be justice. She never went into the details, but judging by her haunted eyes he figures she went through quite an ordeal with Gregor at Harrenhal.

His curiosity is piqued as to whether the girl in the Eryie may actually be Sansa-he wonders why the squire Pod called her Alayne. The thought of Littlefinger sinking his teeth into his precious Little bird is more than he can bear. Thevery idea she may be with him fuels his desire to ride to the Vale in hopes of seeing the girl Alayne for himself.

Driven to distraction with worry, Sandor needs an outlet for his inner turmoil now more than ever. Unable to turn off his thoughts of the Little bird, a new kind of plan forms in his mind throughout the days, though the exact details of how he will execute his complex scheme still eludes him. He needs coin and leave from Elder Brother but he absolutely must find a way to the Eyrie. Sandor is haunted by Podrick's phrase: _“she could pass for Sansa's twin”_ and he is now certain the pretty bird is being held by Littlefucker, brown hair or not.

Since the day the female knight Brienne left the Quiet Isle, Sandor secretly trains with his sword in the barn until late into the night, honing his warrior's body back into fighting shape while Stranger watches curiously from the stall. The war horse often huffs and stomps his feet, just as eager for battle as his master. Sandor decides to exercise him daily as well, and so he begins riding him for many miles around the Quiet Isle as thoughts of Sansa fill his mind.  Each day he leaves the septry hoping he will find answers in the solitude he enjoys as he tours the isle on Stranger's back.

Elder Brother notices Sandor's worsening demeanor and watches him silently as he prepares for his daily rides. Awaiting Sandor's return in the barn, he gives him the opportunity to confide in him. Sandor has been in no mood for talk and so far rejects all attempts at conversation.

Sometimes late in the afternoon, he finds thinking of her brings on a sharp aching pain deep in his stomach. At first, he feels it might just be love-sickness and he laughs at his own foolishness. Soon, however, the intensity of his pain continues to increase as the days pass.

One day after an especially strong episode Sandor mentions it to Elder Brother.

He listens carefully, pausing in thought before speaking. To Sandor's surprise he claims it possibly could be empathy pains for her, yet another sign the Seven want Sandor to help her. Sandor knows Sansa and the rest of the Stark children have some type of special bond with their direwolves; he had heard of it from some of the soldiers traveling with Robert to Winterfell. He had laughed long and hard and dismissed it as northern superstitious shit.

"I witnessed the bond myself on the Kingsroad," he finally tells Elder Brother.

Somehow Arya's direwolf had perceived her anger at Joffrey and attacked in response. He never faulted the fearsome creature for trying to protect her mistress. The wolf bitch's direwolf would have done the world a favor if she had killed Joffrey. Arya's wolf escaped and at Cersei's insistence Robert had made him search high and low for that damned beast.

Sandor halfheartedly searched for the animal before losing its tracks and Robert had the Little bird's pet killed in her stead. She had cried the rest of the way to King's Landing and it upset him to see his beloved pretty bird in distress. Wolves and dogs have uncanny loyalty and he had no desire to kill her direwolf. In fact, he has always carried a special fondness for his sigil and wolves are related to dogs, after all. Her father ended up doing the job anyway. Sandor keeps this part of the story to himself as Elder Brother thoughtfully considers his words.

He never believed in dragons, the pyromancers, the red priests-before he battled Beric Dondarrion, that is. Nowadays, he's not so quick to discount things he can't explain, like the connection the Starks have with their direwolves. Sandor's dreams have progressive felt more real, the pain in his gut continues worsening daily. _Could it be..._

Finally Elder Brother speaks. “When her sister was threatened by Joffrey her direwolf responded to protect her. You felt a similar urge to protect her in King's Landing as well. Perhaps Sansa has formed similar kind of bond with you as well.”

“In King's Landing she was always on my mind, that lass. I had to drink, fight or whore just to forget about her. But the feeling was never as strong as what I have now.” A fearful realization grips Sandor, constricting his chest. “Is she being threatened? Could that be why I'm having these dreams and feelings?”

Elder Brother nods definitively. “Many things that cannot be explained are possible. Such bonds are born out of a deep connection, even love-the Targaryens with their dragons, the Starks and their direwolves. Though I'm sure you would deny it, you have powerful feelings for Lady Sansa. She lost her beloved direwolf, her protector and companion-that connection was violently broken when she was killed. Over time, if she developed such feelings for you as well, a bonding very well may have occurred in King's Landing.  Perhaps it continues now, despite the present distance between you,” he says.

Sandor isn't sure if he believes him but it deeply distresses him to think he may be feeling the Little bird's suffering just the same.Elder Brother takes this information in stride and seems to be reading his thoughts.

“Such things are not as rare as you may think. Brother Digger, tell me truly, do you love Lady Sansa?”

 _Life on this damn island is making me soft. Of course I love her; isn't it as fucking obvious as the scars on my face? She isn't meant for the likes of me; she's gentle and beautiful. She's supposed to marry some buggering high lord, who will never appreciate and love her as I do,_ he simmers furiously while swallowing his words. Sandor turns away from him, hoping Elder Brother will just drop the subject altogether.

Elder Brother's statement clears the fog of emotional upheaval clouding his mind. “Have you never wondered why your life was spared, Brother Digger? The Seven teach us love is the most powerful bond there is, ...it is what calls you to her each day.”

Sandor snorts in derision.

“There is no shame in it, Brother. You have taken no vows and I have long known your devotion lies elsewhere. The pain you feel comes from hiding your love for her. Perhaps she is suffering, trying to hide her love for you as well.”

Disbelief and a feeling akin to hope fills his heart. Sandor can hardly believe such a thing is possible, let alone happening to him of all people. Averting his eyes, Sandor begins brushing Stranger. He would rather look anywhere than at Elder Brother right now as he ponders his strange words. Raw emotions rage inside of him, his true feelings for her surface and he is unable to hold back any longer.

“Yes I love her, more than anything,” he hears himself say, his raspy voice barely above a whisper.

Elder Brother smiles and pats him on the back. “Go to the Vale and see if this Alayne Stone is your Lady Sansa. It is clear to me now it is the will of the Seven. I give you leave of your duties here. Take as much time as you need. You must follow the will of the Seven to find peace Sandor and you will never be at ease until you know the truth. ”

 _This is the first time Elder Brother has used my given name since I first arrived, he must be serious._ Still, he hesitates: belief in the gods is something Sandor has resisted his entire life. _Is Elder Brother right-is his love for her causing the deep aching pain he feels inside? Or is it her grief and distress he is feeling?_   Thoughts of Sansa continue to haunt his dreams and waking hours alike. _Does this mean she loves me and needs me to come to her aid?_

Elder Brother's voice stirs him from his thoughts. “Despite the differences between the two of you, true love is the bond you share with her. You owe it to yourself and Lady Sansa to acknowledge your feelings. She must feel the same for you, it is the only explanation for the bond you are experiencing with her. If you continue down this path, the two of you will find your suffering only continues to intensify as time passes.”

Elder Brother has fed him a lot of religious horseshit about the Seven since he has been on the Quiet Isle but for the first time Sandor feels the echo of truth deep within his heart. His need to find Sansa has become a force so powerful he is no longer able to ignore it.

Sandor tells him he will prepare immediately to leave at first light. Lady Brienne left them over a month ago and if Sansa is indeed with Littlefinger as he suspects she no doubt has heard of his so-called death by now. He cannot bear the thought of her suffering unnecessarily on his behalf. Determination replaces unmitigated worry in Sandor's mind. Tomorrow he will saddle Stranger and head to the Vale in search of his Little bird.

Sandor awakens long before dawn breaks over the Quiet Isle. He sharpens and oils his swords before strapping them on. He finds comfort in the cold steel resting in its familiar place on his hip and back. He has felt naked without them. Saddling Stranger and packing provisions takes a bit longer now that he is out of practice.

Elder Brother says a prayer over him and makes the seven pointed synbol of the Seven as he turns to leave. In the distance he sees an unfamiliar man astride a white horse approaching. Sandor pauses to investigate the stranger before heading out on his journey.

“A message for the Elder Brother, my lords,” he calls out as he nears, recoiling at Sandor's menacing appearance. Handing Elder Brother a small envelope, he announces,“From the Lord Protector of the Vale, Petyr Baelish.”

Sandor and Elder Brother exchange glances as he opens the note carefully. After reading it briefly he hands it to Sandor: it is a wedding invitation from Petyr Baelish and Alayne Stone.  floods his body and rings in Sandor's ears, partially blocking out Elder Brother's next words.

“Lord Baelish honors us with his gracious announcement. May I ask what he may possibly need from the poor brothers here on the Quiet Isle?”

The young man looks around, making certain no one else is listening. “Since you are men of faith, I am finally at liberty to share it. My lord, he means to reveal his bastard daughter Alayne Stone as another young lady, a highborn of considerable importance. He has shared her actual identity with no one, not even the septons. He desires you to perform their marriage ceremony.”

“Why would he have you travel so far for a septon to perform the wedding? Surely the Vale has brothers of the Seven who are familiar with the couple.” Elder Brother treads lightly, feeling heated fury rolling off Sandor.

“No, my Lord, the brothers of the Vale will not perform it. Petyr is a man with, well, shall we say, a somewhat _questionable_ moral background. The septons do not know her true identity and in fact the young woman is altogether unaware he is planning the marriage.”

A deep growling rasps from Sandor's throat. “Questionable morals-that's a fucking understatement if I ever heard it!”

Shocked speechless, the young man stares at Sandor and Elder Brother is quick to smooth over the situation. “Please forgive our newest apprentice, my lord. He is a penitent and struggles with his vices. However, the reasons you cited for the brothers at the Vale are indeed valid. If the young woman is not willing, or as you say, unaware, well that is a difficult situation to overlook. Marriage is a sacred union. Please be aware, I am not inclined to overlook the other septon's judgment lightly.” He pauses long for his words to sink into the steward's mind.

“I am to brook no refusals my Lord,” the steward replies, his quivering voice betraying nervous tension. “Lord Baelish has no other options. He has given me a substantial donation to ease over any difficulties. Much depends on this marriage taking place, I assure you.”

Out of the corner of his eye Elder Brother notices Sandor gripping the hilt of his sword and when the steward looks away he winks and nods at him. “Alright then, allow my apprentice leave to travel ahead of us. Send word that we may be expected in the Vale. I must speak to the girl first and make sure all is well before any ceremony is performed. Is she devoted to the Seven?”

Eagerly the steward replies,“Yes, my lord, she keeps the old gods and the new.  Every day the young lady spends hours in the godswood praying to the Heart tree.”

Sandor nods at Elder Brother: without a doubt the girl in question is indeed Sansa. Elder brother pauses in prayer for several moments and then raises his eyes and smiles broadly. “It is the will of the Seven that I attend this matter myself. I will settle my affairs, pack my things and follow along with you on the morrow. Does that suit you, my lord?”

Chuckling low, Sandor positions Stranger toward the road.

“Oh yes, Elder Brother that is very fine indeed,” the young man beams.

Sandor sneers at the young man but remains silent. _Stupid fucker, he just saved your life and you don't even know it,_ Sandor growls to himself as he spurs Stranger in the flanks, heading north toward the Vale and his Little bird. _When I find her, all of the gods in Westeros will not be able to save Littlefucker from the worst possible death imaginable._


	5. A Desperate Prayer Awakens the Wolf

Watching the autumn sunlight filtering through the trees, Sansa feels most at home in the godswood outside the Eyrie. She spends most of her time here now, alone with her gods and her thoughts of Sandor. Her father always did the same she remembers; when he was troubled he would retreat to Winterfell's magnificent godswood for hours on end, seeking solace under the Heart tree.

Her southern mother never understood his devotion to the old gods. As a true daughter of Winterfell, Sansa shares his enthusiasm. She finds comfort in knowing she is repeating a time-honored Stark tradition. Remembering him sharpening Ice's blade under the canopy of red-leafed weirwood trees helps her forget her father's last moments in King's Landing. The faith of her father strengthens her and in the godswood Sansa hopes he watches her with a smile in the afterlife.

Here she is free: free of Petyr's unwanted advances, free of tiresome polite conversation, free of the claustrophobic castle walls that feel as though they will close in on her at any given moment. Free of phony smiles, free to express herself honestly instead of parroting Petyr's falsehoods that now easily slip off her once honest tongue. She hopes the gods will forgive her many lies: it is the only way she knows how to survive the gilded cage that is the Eyrie.

There is no political intrigue, no maids watching her every move, no masquerading as the bastard daughter of a loathsome man she despises. No ridiculous brown hair dye and elaborate clothing, no maneuvering and schemes, no perversion and debauchery. Everything here is pure and innocent, just as she once was, before Joffrey betrayed and murdered her father.

Amid the beauty of the Vale's natural surroundings, Sansa is able to forget her bleak situation for a few hours each day. She revels in the fresh snow blanketing the godswood, for the snow cleanses her Stark blood and purges the impurities Lord Baelish's company has wrought on her mind and heart. Snow smells sharp and clean like the north, like Winterfell and her beloved father-like home.

This is her place to remember the happiness of days gone by. The sadder memories of her dead loved ones have no place here, for the trees stand as silent sentries and protect her from the darkness. Sandor is her constant companion here. Next to the pool, she holds solemn vigil over his secret memorial by day and passionately loves him in her fevered dreams each night.

Remembering Sandor reminds her of the girl she was in King's Landing before Joffrey was king. The time she was happy, before they left for King's Landing, her father's death and the brutality of the so-called Red wedding. It was before her mother was killed and Robb's corpse desecrated with the head of his beloved Greywind. The Lannisters spared no details when they broke the news to her. Gloating he had won the war, Joffrey sadistically related the circumstances of their deaths with nauseating embellishment. Tyrion raged over the cruel way she was told, but by then she felt totally numb with grief, just as she felt when she heard of Sandor's death. Part of Sansa died that day and there are times she wishes she died with him and was spared this purgatory that is now her life.

Her mother continues in a purgatory of her own; Lady Brienne told her and Petyr about a dark magic that brought her mother back to life. Sansa is sickened knowing her gentle mother has been cruelly denied reuniting with her father in the afterlife. Beric Dondarrion performed a mystical ritual allowing him to give his life for hers, thus giving rise to the so-called Lady Stoneheart. Once the very picture of graciousness, this undead rotting monster inhabits the body of her mother now; seeking her missing daughters and satisfying her bloodthirst for those who took her family sustains her putrid existence.

No doubt planning to keep her to himself and use her as a substitute for her dead mother, Petyr did not reveal Sansa's true identity to Lady Brienne. It would not matter if he did however; Sansa will never consent to seeing the creature Lady Stoneheart. Daily she prays this unholy abomination will soon be put out of its misery, allowing her mother's body to finally rest in dignity.

In the frozen land beyond the Wall her half-brother Jon serves as Lord Commander on the Wall. Beyond that information she knows nothing more about him. She often wonders if Jon knows what has happened-many times she has begged Petyr to send a raven to him but he refuses.

"Too risky," he replies each time she has pleaded with him. Being patronized daily taxes her in so many ways she is surprised there is any courtesy left in her.

"Risky for you," she fumes, biting back her words. They both know all too well what would happen should Jon appear one day with his fearsome direwolf Ghost by his side.

As they grew up together, Sansa mistreated him out of misplaced loyalty to her mother. Playing the bastard Alayne has provided a unique insight into what Jon suffered from her mother. The lessons she has learned about the irony in life never fails to amazer her. If the opportunity arises, she will tell Jon how deeply ashamed she is, that she loves him and hopes he will forgive her. It will be a new beginning for them as brother and sister and if that day should arrive she is determined she will make the most of it.

If anyone in the family will survive it will be Arya, no question about it. Sometimes she imagines her tomboy little sister bursting upon her in the godswood with Needle at her side and Nymeria dancing around her. In her daydreams there is no Theon Greyjoy or Ironborn polluting their beloved home, only the joy of the Starks returning to Winterfell at long last.

Memories of the strong bond she enjoyed with Lady leaves no doubt that Nymeria will find Arya one day, if indeed her little sister is alive. When her father killed Lady, she experienced a gut wrenching pain as their bond abruptly ended, their connection dying as the lifeblood of her direwolf poured out on the ground.

The excruciating misery she suffered the rest of the trip to King's Landing is something she will never forget. When she thinks about it a long time the feeling returns to her as strong as ever. Unable to suppress her tears, she remembers noticing Sandor watching her when he thought no one was looking, a pained expression softening his keen gray eyes as the burned corner of his mouth twitched anxiously. Watching over her became his daily habit from then on as they journeyed together south on the Kingsroad.

 _Sandor_. His memory fills her heart with an impassioned love even grief cannot extinguish. A deep intimate connection with him courses through her blood each day as she visits his memorial in the godswood. When she dreams of Sandor, the bond magnifies, adding a beautiful and otherworldly intensity to the experience each night. The shared intimacy of mind and heart has become more real and intense than anything she has ever known, powerfully echoing throughout her body even as it defies logic and reason.

She wonders if somehow she could have bonded to Sandor in a way similar to what she shared with her beloved direwolf. Of one thing she is sure: any bond with Sandor-if there had ever been one to begin with-would not survive his death. She literally had felt the deaths of her father, her mother and Lady-but she cannot recall ever feeling the gut wrenching ending of a bond with Sandor. Her love for him is strangely powerful and all-consuming even after his death; undoubtedly the end of a bond with Sandor would have been the worst experience of all. She may not have survived it, considering the way she suffers for him now.

Perhaps it was due to the distance between them at the time of his passing. The Reeds would have been able to explain what is happening to her; she hopes one day she will see them again and find answers to her strange emotions. Alone in the godswood, Sansa feels Sandor's presence everywhere. It is as though he is right beside her every time she kneels before the Heart tree, just as he had been in King's Landing.

 _Maybe the Stranger is considering returning Sandor to me._ If anyone knew her thoughts, they would take her for a mad woman and yet she continues her prayers daily for his return just the same.

Staring into the deep gray waters of the pool beside the Heart tree infuses in Sansa the will to survive, to honor the lives of those she has lost with her actions. Each day Sansa finds little bits of hope that weave together a web of strength, holding the most fragile pieces of her mind and heart together and enabling her to continue believing there will yet come a time for wolves.

 _The north will remember, the wolves will rise again_. The wind whispers the words to her as it rustles through the trees of the godswood. It is the voice of her father and mother, of Bran and Rickon and Robb-of that she is certain. She is a wolf, a Stark of Winterfell, not the bastard of Petyr Baelish. None of his lying deception will turn her into the mockingbird of his sigil, chirping imitations of others and never speaking the truth for herself.

Darkness falls and Sansa hurriedly makes her way back to the Eyrie. When she enters her chambers, she finds Petyr laying on her bed, awaiting her return. Confused, she glances around her. There is not a servant to be found anywhere.

Nausea grips her stomach as she finds her voice. "Father, what are you doing here?"

"Sweetling!" He grins, mock paternal affection dripping from his lips. Petyr stands and closes her door, putting a finger to his lips as he leans in close. "The time has come to reveal your true identity as Sansa Stark, the rightful heir of Winterfell."

Confusion settles over her mind while fear creeps into her throat and threatens to render her speechless. After several moments she gathers herself. "What has happened? How is this possible?"

"The most powerful lords of the Vale demand that I relinquish custody of your cousin Robert. I have demanded a trial period for wardship over Sweetrobin, thus enabling me to stay Lord Protector of the Vale. Sweetrobin is far too ill to assume the role now. When my position is uncontested, you will wed Harrold Hardyng, the Arryn heir apparent, making you the Lady of the Vale. Then we will return you to the north and I will be able to secure Winterfell for you. I have arranged everything my dear-you will see."

 _Marriage? He will secure Winterfell?_   Terror descends upon Sansa like a shroud. Her mother's words echo in her mind, _"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell"-_ not a Hardyng or a Baelish. She will never consent help anyone other than her own blood regain Winterfell. If she is wed to an Arryn heir, Winterfell will rightfully belong to the house of her lord husband.

"But...I do not wish to wed. I...I am not fit to be his wife...my marriage to Tyrion is still valid," she sputters out in panic.

"All in good time, my dear Sansa. Your divorce from Tyrion is only a matter of time. I have brothers of the Seven on their way from the Quiet Isle as we speak. The right amount of coin will secure your divorce and then we shall proceed with my plans," he says, gripping her waist and pressing his manhood against her tightly while running his tongue over her mouth. "We must keep your maidenhead intact until then, Sweetling. Innocent Harry will be none the wiser. Come your wedding night, you will thank me," he purrs, his voice ragged with need.

Temporarily stunned, Sansa is neither unable to grasp his words or deflect his sexual advances. _"Sandor, please hear me...I need you!"_ Inwardly she screams Sandor's name from the depths of her soul even as her voice remains silent. Strength and anger surge through her veins as she calls out to him _. I am a wolf, a Stark of Winterfell,_ the words replay in her mind. Mustering her courage, the  young woman takes a step back, slapping him hard across the face with all her strength.

Petyr staggers backward holding his cheek in utter disbelief. "You didn't mean that, my dear. You are in shock and just need a little time," he hisses, rage seething in his voice as he yanks her closer to him. "In time you will understand the _benefits_ of cooperating with me," he whispers into her ear while adjusting himself in front of her. Moving away, he pinches her cheek painfully before storming out of the room. Sansa rushes toward the door, bolting it securely before sinking down to the weirwood floor in anguish.

"Sandor, wherever you may be, I am so sorry I never told you how deeply I love you...I will regret it until the day I join you in the afterlife. Please hear me...I need you my love, now more than ever," she whispers to him like a prayer, her frightened tears streaming down her cheeks.


	6. Meeting at the Inn

Sandor is grateful for the solitude traveling alone with Stranger. Riding from dusk until dawn each day, he left Elder Brother and the valet days behind him, knowing full well he would never be able to keep up their pretense in the company of Baelish's toady. _That greenboy bastard is too fucking stupid to realize just how close came to meeting his gods_ , Sandor smugly thinks of the oblivious young man.

While he pushes Stranger deeper into the foothills, Sandor feels a twinge of regret for leaving the valet to Elder Brother. When he was bedridden, Elder Brother told him that he once loved a woman; having little to offer her besides knighthood he was unable to win her hand. Judging by the deep sense of regret in which Elder Brother told his story, Sandor feels certain the holy man understands the unbearable turmoil roiling in his mind and heart and will forgive him.

His days are spent traveling hard, pushing himself and his horse to the limits of physical endurance in his attempt to gain as much ground as possible. His glossy ebony coat lathering with sweat, Stranger responds to the demanding pace with surprising ease as he follows the rugged trail away from the desolate burned out ruins of the Saltpans.

Despite the months spent passively stabled on the Quiet Isle, the powerful animal chomps at his bit and tosses his head, just as eager as his master to be out on the road once more. Sandor grins and pats his flanks; both of them are beasts bred for war not easily tamed and would gladly welcome a chance to spill blood once again. Sandor slows the mighty warhorse to a canter as they head northward toward the Inn at the Crossroads. They have covered a remarkable amount of land in their three weeks on the road. He will need to preserve the animal's strength for his escape with Sansa and must ease up the pace or risk ruining Stranger in the process.

He resumed calling his warhorse by his original blasphemous name ever since Elder Brother disappeared from view. Sandor cannot imagine heading out to rescue Sansa on an animal called Driftwood...that would be a fucking joke if he ever heard one. It is morbidly appropriate to ride into the Eyrie mounted on his ferocious warhorse Stranger, for Sandor's arrival means certain death for anyone that dares stand between him and his precious little bird.

Discerning her feelings becomes easier the closer he comes to the Eyrie. Apparently his time on the Quiet Isle did not change his personality as much as he originally thought. Feeling her distress, the black rage from King's Landing returns to him with frightening fury. Haunted by her suffering, Sansa's misery drives Sandor relentlessly onward, turning his need to reach her into the most primal of urges. Agonizing pain radiates down his leg constantly but Sandor shuts out everything but her in his fevered determination and his harried pace allows him to reach the Inn at the Crossroads in just over three weeks time.

Snow flurries descend upon them as evening falls, the icy wind sending his weakened muscles into painful spasms. Unable to deny his body reprieve, he finally relents, deciding to stay the night. Arriving at the Inn triggers sad memories of Sansa; they had stayed here with the royal caravan when King Robert ordered her beloved direwolf killed. Reaching into his tunic pocket, he retrieves a delicate ornament, fingering it with gentle reverence at the memory.

The day of the bread riots, he remembers Sansa wore her beautiful auburn hair down to her waist, save for the front held by a single dragonfly clasp. As she watched Myrcella leave King's Landing, he remembers thinking he had never seen anyone look so beautiful or so sad. After her assault, Sandor went back in search of her missing shoe. Discovering her hair clasp not far from where he found her, the dainty dragonfly sparkled like a jewel amongst the yellow chaff covering the floor. Tucked safe in his tunic pocket Sandor carried it with him from that day onward with the intention of returning it.

Even though he has never been known for his sentimentality, he found wearing it next to his heart comforting even as he cursed himself for his own foolishness. When he discovered her and Shae trying to hide her moonblood, Sansa had been distraught by his arrival. Her reaction plagued his conscience, making him feel like the lowest bastard ever born. After leaving her with Cersei he purchased a silver jeweled bird clasp fashioned with blue and green stones, the delicate piece reminding him of the feathers of the little talking birds in the Summer Isles which inspired his nickname for her.

Stealthily entering her empty bedchamber, he carefully laid it on her dressing table next to her hairbrush, hoping the gift would lessen her sadness. Sansa never mentioned his gift outright but he noticed she wore it in her hair every day afterward. Occasionally she would touch the clasp as she looked at him, acknowledging it was their own little secret, a symbol of the affection the two of them shared.

The bastards who robbed him of his helm inexplicably overlooked the dragonfly clasp in his pocket. Elder Brother said he found Sandor clutching it in his hand, repeatedly calling out "little bird" as he lay dying, returning it as soon as Sandor regained consciousness. Over the excruciating healing process Sandor held onto it tightly more than once, trying to draw the little bird's strength from it as his body convulsed in pain. Sighing, Sandor presses it next to his heart for a moment before returning it to its place.

He needs coin but will never part with this cherished symbol of Sansa. After much debating he decides to sell off some of Stranger's armor. Carrying the heavy bundle over to the blacksmith, he is well pleased with the deal he strikes; metal has become scarce since the war and the blacksmith gives him three pouches of coin, more than enough for his needs.

After paying in advance for his room he soothes his aching muscles with a steaming bath before heading to the common room, concluding he may as well gather some much needed information while he quenches his thirst with a thick Dornish red.

Sandor keeps his cowl pulled close, obscuring his scars from view as he enters the dimly lit room. His brown holy robes and greatsword draws curious glances from the greasy sellswords seated next to the fireplace. Taking a seat in the very back corner facing the door, he warily observes the men assembled as he settles into his chair.

Draining the first wineskin with ease, Sandor waives the serving wench over for a second round when an expensively dressed young knight enters the room. He is tall and handsome, outfitted with a red and white diamond checkered sigil on his breast...just the type to invoke Sandor's ire. _Another buggering lord whose shit doesn't smell no doubt, just what this godforsaken place needs,_ Sandor frowns darkly and pulls deeply on the wineskin.

Clearing a few drunken smallfolk from the tables, the young man's company of soldiers quickly claim the great room for their own, earning the derision of the sellswords seated nearby. "Just who the fuck do you think you are, coming in here like you're Robert Baratheon?" says the largest of the sellswords, his hand resting on his short sword.

 _Let's see you try getting out of this one pretty boy, go ahead and talk your shit,"_ Sandor smirks to himself, waiting to hear the young man's reply. Several of the soldiers unsheathe their swords, the threat of violence suddenly extinguishing the jovial mood of the room.

"Who do I think I am, you ask? I am Harrold Hardyng...the young falcon, future Lord of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale. Surely you must be familiar with my name," the young man laughs haughtily, bowing exaggeratedly toward everyone in the room, causing his men to heartily laugh at his showy display. Two whores make their way to his table, eager to earn the young lord's plentiful coin. _The young falcon...seven hells,_ Sandor mutters under his breath.

"So you're Harry the Heir, eh? You must be as daft as you are pretty if you think Lord Baelish will step aside while you and your men waltz into the Eyrie and take over his home. Half the lords of the Vale failed to get him to give up your cousin and his place there," a large mountain clansman barks out, sending the men at his table into raucous laughter.

"I come at his invitation, good man. He seeks betrothal for his reportedly very beautiful and voluptuous daughter Alayne Stone," Harry grins lustfully, downing his tumbler of honeyed ale and pulling a busty blond whore onto his lap. Sandor's ears perk up to attention. _Alayne Stone-that's the name the female knight used for Sansa...Littlefucker is going to marry her off to this piece of shit? He's not that stupid,...something doesn't add up,_ Sandor mulls over this information, fighting the simmering fury Harry's words ignite in his blood.

"Done some work for Littlefinger clearing the clansman from the Eyrie and I seen the lass myself. She's a beauty and a true lady to be sure...more than the likes o'you deserve," the man eyes Harry suspiciously before adding, "Why would he want you for her now?"

"Sounds like you're full of horseshit to me," agrees another sellsword, laughing as he clinks glasses with the first man. "If she's as pretty as you say, what makes you think she'll even agree to marry you with her father Lord Protector of the Vale?"

"She's bastard born, an unfortunate reminder of one of his youthful indiscretions I'll wager. Needs someone to take her off his hands, I suppose...and I am next in line as heir of the Eyrie, after all. Having such a lovely girl coming to me at quite a bargain, I might add, what red-blooded man could resist?" Sandor reaches into his tunic pocket, drawing out Sansa's clasp and passing it through his long fingers in a fluid motion to calm his fury.

Lord Eddard was nothing like Littlefinger. Ned was honest, honorable and tried seeing the best in others-and it got him killed. The Little Bird has always reminded him of Ned, which is why he feared for her in King's Landing. Thinking of her reminds him to stay quiet so the young fool will continue talking. The clansman laughs loudly,"For all your pomp and high talk you'd be the one knowing about indiscretions wouldn't you now, Ser Hardyng? Rumor has it you've a bastard of your own and another on the way...haven't you learned how to dip your wick without making offspring, pup?"

Narrowing his eyes, Harry turns to face the man. "True as that may be, the burden of who her father thoughtlessly fucked is not mine to carry but hers, wouldn't you agree?" He hisses menacingly though no one in the room is impressed, least of all Sandor. "Petyr promises a virgin pure as the snow but rest assured lads I have no intention of agreeing to anything unless I first get opportunity to taste her wares. Let's see how grateful she is for a chance at respectability."

The room erupts in laughter; Sandor barely contains his fury and sharply plunges his fighting knife into the wooden table to alleviate his anger. Several of the men glance over at Sandor, watching him remove his knife for a moment before resuming the conversation. "She may be bastard born but your words prove yourself one in spades, Ser or not. Have you no shame, taking advantage of her weak condition? I saw the poor lass a week ago, she has grown frail and thin as of late," another one of the sellswords offers.

 _The little bird is ill? Poor little thing, she's always been so delicate...everything must have finally caught up with her,_ he shakes his head and leans forward intently, eager to hear more. Sighing in disgust, the man grits his teeth and continues, "Littlefinger says she's been ill with grief for the past month or so." Harry scoffs, "Really? Who is she grieving for-should I be jealous?"

"It's over a family friend recently found buried on the Quiet Isle," the man replies curtly. "Just like a woman...she'll recover soon enough once she meets me. She can grow as fat as she pleases once I plant a son in her belly...I like meat on my women," Harry chuckles, squeezing the full breasts of the whore on his lap for emphasis. The soldiers all laugh, toasting each other for their lord's quick-witted response.

Blinking several times, Sandor tries to digest the sellsword's words. _Sansa's ill with grief over **me**?_ The very idea tears his scarred conscience, sending a wave of bitter guilt coursing through Sandor's heart. Unable to tolerate listening to anymore talk from them, he rises and makes his way to the serving wench. Harry calls after him, having noticed Sandor is the only man refusing to engage in conversation. "Friend, you look like a man who could use another drink...won't you stay and celebrate my upcoming marriage awhile? Next round is on me, anything you want."

Enraged, Sandor slowly turns to face him, "I'm not your friend, you arrogant little fucker. Don't push me any further or I'll gladly give you and your men what's coming to you," Sandor growls low, then hands the young girl a handful of coins. He would welcome the chance to bash his pretty face into the wall for the load of shit he's talked. Ultimately he decides to leave it up to the boy to decide what happens next.

Uncomfortable silence falls over the men. Startled by Sandor's blatant challenge, Harry gapes in surprise. Not one of his men confronts Sandor or even protests. _Cowardly pieces of shit, all of them,_ Sandor looks each of the soldiers in the eyes, begging for a fight. When no one responds, he casts a final smirk at all of them before trudging up the stairs, the sound of the soldier's nervous laughter echoing through the common room.

Stretching out on the comfortable but narrow bed, Sandor stares up at the ceiling. It's been a long while since he's enjoyed such pleasant accommodations. Still, sleep continues to escape him. Memories of the night he left King's Landing play in a continuous loop in his mind. Sansa knew nothing but fear her entire captivity. Oftentimes he spoke hatefully to her, intentionally scaring her in his drunken half-witted attempts at teaching her to stop believing in true knights and face the dangerous reality of her life. Sandor wonders for the thousandth time why the fuck he ever thought his growling would help the poor innocent girl survive the Lannisters.

Truth be told, he feels he was just as big a fucking coward as any of the rest of the buggering Kingsguard. He should have gutted Meryn for striking Sansa and killed that inbred little fuck of a king for murdering her father. The hell the little bird endured daily in King's Landing served as a constant reminder of his own lack of courage to act in her behalf. Most of his days were spent blaming that bitch Cersei and her sadistic son, staying in an alcohol-induced stupor during his off hours so he wouldn't have to think about it.

As he lay injured and alone in his cell on the Quiet Isle, his thoughts tormented him. He hated himself thoroughly and looked forward to the peace death would bring him. Even death denied him and despite his taunting her about Sansa the wolf bitch's eyes glittered with rage yet she refused to put an end to his miserable existence. With no wine to drown his sorrows, the cold truth struck him like a battle ax to the chest. It wasn't Cersei that laid in her room covered in blood the night the Blackwater burned. Joffrey had not held a knife to her throat or made her sing a song for him, or offered to take her with him in the pathetic hope she would love him out of appreciation. The brutal truth was he abandoned her; he left his beloved little bird to the the lions.

Elder Brother has reassured him many times, saying he is now a completely different person and that he cannot continue dwelling on the past. Sandor berates himself every time he thinks of it; only speaking to her will alleviate his guilt. Knowing he has much to atone for when they meet again makes him more eager than ever to reunite with Sansa as quickly as possible.

* * *

The next morning he rises before dawn, only to find the roads around the inn buried in a foot of fresh snow. The crusty old innkeeper recruits the soldiers to dig out the roads with the promise of free whores. Little progress is made and by mid-afternoon it is clear that he and the rest of the guests will be staying another night at the inn.

An hour after Harrold and his party depart, Elder Brother and Littlefinger's valet ride in the following morning as Sandor inspects Stranger's shoes. Chilled but no worse for wear considering the inclement weather, the men happily greet Sandor, who is none too pleased to see them. The valet is called Rafe by Elder Brother and the day finds him in a jovial mood, "We met Alayne's intended and his men on our way here-what a stroke of luck! I have sent ravens announcing our arrival. The High Road to the Eyrie will be cleared of mountain clansmen and Lord Baelish has seen to it that the Knight of the Gate will allow our passage."

Sandor frowns but says nothing; as much as he hates to admit it this development will definitely make their travel through the Vale easier. Elder Brother speaks up, "That is very good to hear, Rafe-isn't it Brother Digger?" Refusing to look up Sandor grunts in response, intent on digging a rock out from his horse's rear hoof. "This way you will be free and clear to arrive at the Eyrie quickly with no impediment. Perhaps you would be willing to leave within the hour?" Sandor bows in assent.

"What is the rush, Elder Brother? We certainly may all travel together with little difficulty, there is most certainly more safety in numbers," Rafe answers with a smile. "True, true, but since the betrothed of your master's daughter is headed for the Eyrie as we speak, I believe the wisest course would be to have the lass meet with Brother Digger as soon as possible for premarital counseling and such," Elder Brother gestures for Sandor to prepare to leave.

Rafe thinks it over a moment, then grins, "Agreed, excellent idea! There will be much preparation needed for the couple before the wedding-with your permission, of course." Rafe turns away, heading into the inn. Elder Brother rolls his eyes then whispers seriously,"You must get to your young lady very quickly, Sandor. I understand she is quite ill and suffering from grieving  your loss."

He nods in agreement, "Yes, I heard that very thing last night-and something else isn't right. It's unlikely Littlefinger would allow Sansa to marry that f-uh, that joker you met earlier, not with all he stands to gain from her being a Stark of Winterfell."

"Yes, I agree it does seem a bit odd, and I am only familiar with Petyr Baelish based on reputation. Please, go before Rafe comes back...never mind us, we'll catch up in a few days. Take these medicines for her...she may be in need of them."

His stomach sinks as he nervously packs the medicine pouch in his belt. Swinging up onto Stranger, Elder Brother quickly makes the sign of the Seven over Sandor, leaving him with a prayer, "May the Seven watch over you and your Lady Sansa." Overwhelmed with emotion, Sandor barely manages to choke out a thank you before spurring Stranger northward.


	7. Wedding Plans

Sandor feels closer to Sansa now than ever before. Where once she only sensed his presence in the godswood, now she feels him beside her everywhere, a constant comfort accompanying her wherever she goes. She is unable to distinguish where he ends and she begins, making her formerly all-consuming grief somewhat more endurable. As she sews in the sunlight filled window seat of her solar, she ponders over her past and ponders what the future will hold.

Oftentimes she wonders if she is losing her mind, if she will one day no longer remember who she is. Tyrion used to say wondering whether you were losing your mind was a sure sign of sanity. Mayhaps she will end up like her Aunt Lysa, obsessed with her first love, unwilling or unable to move forward until one day her behavior yields tragic consequences.

Petyr had been fostered with the Tullys and Aunt Lysa and her mother had grown up with him. Baelish was her aunt's first and only love, his low rank in his youth placing him far below the station of his host. It was no secret his first choice was her mother and Sansa is sure he would have never married her aunt if not for her title of Lady Regent of the Vale. She often wonders whether or not there had ever been any hints in his behavior that might have warned her aunt of his true nature. After hearing his chilling last words to her aunt, she is not so sure that protecting her was his only motive for throwing her mother's sister out of the moon door.

He had been manipulative, only using her Aunt Lysa to gain his position as Lord Protector of the Vale...did her aunt know his true nature and want him anyway? Surely her mother would have noticed it. "Nothing gets past Catelyn Stark" had been a favorite saying of her father. Had her mother ever tried to warn her of his duplicity? Is that why her aunt had been so distant with her sister and her extended family? Unfortunately Sansa knows this along with so many of her questions will forever remain a mystery, the answers long buried with the dead.

She hopes she would not have ended up in the same position as her aunt, so desperate and lovesick she would take Sandor by any means possible, regardless of how he treated her. In King's Landing Sandor was not always kind or pleasant and she did not delude herself to his negative qualities. If anything, he managed draw her attention to them with annoying and fear inspiring regularity.

Many times he frightened her, pinching her chin painfully as he forced her to look at him. He growled at her and always seemed to appear at the most inopportune times. Unlike her aunt however, she was not ignorant of her beloved's true nature, especially not after one particularly memorable evening.

On the serpentine steps in the Red Keep, she remembers the way he looked at her, his gray eyes rimmed in red from wine and gleaming with rage. Feeling like he was peering deep into her soul, she initially tried to turn away from him. He forced her chin up to meet his eyes and there she discovered she was able to see into his heart as well. There was no maliciousness and before her very eyes his burning fury subsided. Only intense pain and loneliness filled his dark gray eyes as he looked at her. No longer afraid of him but for him, something moved her to reach out to him, offering comfort by placing her hand on his shoulder gently.

Barking out his cruel laugh, he quickly turned away but Sansa nevertheless had seen the keen expression in his eyes soften as she spoke. His entire demeanor changed and in that split second his hardened mask fell away, allowing Sansa to see the man Sandor Clegane and no longer the Hound. Once she glimpsed into his heart she could not be made to fear him ever again. Neither his scarred face nor the even more deeply scarred man who wore it frightened her after that day. Butchering everyone in his path, he had come to her rescue the day of the riots. He had replaced her lost clasp with a beautiful jeweled bird,and though he never admitted it was he that left it in her room, she treasured his precious gift from that day forward.

Only his erratic intoxicated behavior frightened her. He often mistook her reaction to his drunkenness as her fearing his scars, which angering him further, leading to what happened the night of the battle. In her room illuminated by the glow of the wildfire, Sandor had been more drunk than she had ever seen him as he held her down on the bed, covered in blood and sweat. When she remained frozen in fear of his drunkenness and gore-splattered appearance he held a knife to her throat, forcing her to sing for him the only way he knew how, with the threat of violence.

He was not the only one to act rashly out of desperation and terror. Sansa found it difficult to hold his actions against him in light of her own past behavior. The manner in which she handled the situation between her father and Joffrey had been a bitter lesson in how one bad decision can change the course of life forever. Blinded by her love for the beautiful golden prince, she unwittingly betrayed her father to the Queen. Having convinced her own father to confess his supposed crimes, she believed Joffrey would be merciful toward him for her sake. She had stood by, implicitly trusting Joffrey would save her father out of his love for her, until the unthinkable happened.

As he demanded she sing, fear rendered her speechless. Wracking her brain, she had been unable to recall the words to Florian and Jonquil. Remembering the story Petyr had told her at the Hand's tourney, she suddenly realized he was afraid of the fire on the battlefield and sought her out, hoping she would once again offer him a measure of comfort. Lying in his arms that night, she recognized his terrifying behavior as the desperate cry of a man so damaged he didn't even know how to ask her for help. Mustering her courage, she gave him the Mother's Hymn instead, tentatively touching his cheek while she softly sang to him.

All of the tension left his body as the wetness of his tears covered her fingers and hands. She comforted him in the only way she knew and he somehow managed to comfort her as well. Embraced in Sandor's strong arms, she felt safer at that moment then she had the entire time spent in King's Landing. Many times she tried to understand this feeling but she could never say why he made her feel safe, especially holding a knife to her throat. She often wonders if she will ever find the answer as to why she did not choose to go with him rather than remain a prisoner of the lions.

Something about the way he looked at her, a soft, almost tender expression transformed his face, bringing on a flood of new emotions into Sansa's heart. She will never forget the way his warm muscular body pressed against her own made her heart race and her cheeks redden. They stayed frozen in the moment, for how long Sansa could not say. He had whispered his pet name for her like a prayer then disappeared suddenly breaking the spell cast over them, leaving her with only his filthy Kingsguard cloak and his memory.

Little did she know it would be the last time she would ever see him alive. She wonders what it would have been like to befriend and love him without the guise of the Hound threatening to appear any given moment. She regrets not telling him that she understood his need for comfort that night, that she knew he was afraid and he only reacted out of the terror of the wildfire...that she has forgiven him and she hopes he would have forgiven her too for not telling him of her feelings.

There was so much she had wanted to say to him that night and so much more that would remain forever unspoken between them. She is sorry she did not do more to ease his fear. Did he realize that she cared for him too? If they acknowledged their true feelings, would they have found a way to be happy together in spite of the mountainous obstacles facing them? Sansa would like to think so, though sadly she realizes she can only guess the outcome now that Sandor is gone.

A loud rap comes from her solar door; she slowly rises and smooths her skirts before answering. It is Petyr, naturally-none of the servants or handmaidens had bothered her since the night she slapped him two weeks ago. "Yes, Father, what is it?" she asks softly, glancing around outside her door. Two women she has never met stand nervously behind Petyr, their arms loaded down with bolts of material.

Petyr eyes her a moment, then steps inside. "Your betrothed Harrold Hardyng is reported a days' ride from here and the brothers from the Quiet Isle should follow two days hence." Wearing her mask of indifference, Sansa nods once to acknowledge his words. _What does he want from me?_ She silently fumes, still watching and waiting for his next move.

"The wedding must take place as soon as possible, so today you must be fitted for your wedding gown," Petyr says, gesturing to the two women outside. Laying out ivory and dove gray silks, brocades and tulle on the bed and chairs, the women wait for Baelish's reply. "No, no, no," he waves away the ivory material. Reaching for the heaviest baroque brocade in the palest shimmering silver, he announces, "This is the one. Let her choose any design she wants from my approved selection," he instructs the women, who quickly begin rifling through the sample gowns.

"How generous, Father," she replies automatically, forcing a smile to her lips. "Think nothing of it my love," he whispers into her ear, then kissing her right below the lobe, drawing curious glances from the seamstresses. Sansa gulps hard and tremulously turns away from him and back to the gowns lying before her. By late afternoon the women have cut and fitted the pattern, promising to return on the morrow. Remaining in her room, she watches Petyr fill their hands with coin before sending them away in his personal chaise.

Not long after the dressmakers leave, another garishly decorated chaise arrives in front of the Eyrie, full of questionably dressed young women of various descriptions.  _The evening entertainment no doubt. Whores in the Eyrie, Aunt Lysa must be turning over in her grave,_ Sansa frowns. Eying one in particular, she notices the woman has red hair in a shade that closely matches her original hue. The sight of Petyr heatedly kissing her causes Sansa to heave in disgust, knowing full well the debauchery the whore will endure as her substitute with Petyr tonight.

Unable to tolerate food, she stays in her room during dinner in spite of the arrival of Harrold's envoys. The maids bring her broth and wine to settle her stomach. "Pre-wedding jitters," she hears Baelish say, before the men laugh and clink their glasses together, the whores laughing as though it is their place to celebrate her wedding in her aunt's home.

The next morning Harrold approaches the Eyrie with fanfare befitting the future Lord of the Vale. Bannermen waving the sigil flags of House Hardyng ride ahead of the young knight, harolding his arrival. Sansa could hardly be less interested in the whole affair and longs for the peace of the godswood. Handsome and full of bravado, he is all polite conversation and well-timed compliments. Harrold and his men gawk at her unabashedly, barely bothering to hide their leering stares as she descends the stairs. Sansa feels degraded and humiliated, knowing her father and brothers would have executed any man who dared look at her in such a way and Sandor would have disemboweled them right on the entryway floor.

Once seated, Baelish and the young lord negotiate for her hand openly in front of his soldiers. Speaking as though she is invisible, Sansa listens to them discussing the terms of her marriage as though she is a horse at auction. She soon gives up paying attention and stares out the sun room window facing the godswood, drowning out the noise of the men as she daydreams of Sandor.

Her dressmakers call her for a fitting. As she reaches her room, a wave of intense pain seizes her stomach. "Dearie it is only nerves, nothing to fret about," the women say as they help her into her gown. _Perhaps my moonblood is upon me,_ she thinks to herself, though she doesn't recall ever feeling this way before. After lying down for a few minutes, the feeling passes and the women resume their work.

After an hour she rejoins the men. Petyr and Harrold have reached an agreement, a bit too easily in Sansa's view. She has seen him negotiate more aggresively over a new piece of furniture and her curiosity is roused by the apparent ease of the transaction. An elegant lunch is served at noon and the wine and conversation flows easily between her supposed father and future husband. Suspicious of his motives and watching Petyr's behavior with dread, she determines she will play along until she discovers his real intentions for the young man.

Harrold flirts, flatters and showers her with gifts, his mock devotion to her on full display for all to see. Nodding and offering the barest of civility, Sansa wonders if there is an honest bone in his entire body or if it is even worth worrying about Petyr's actual plans for him. As the day wears on, Sansa excuses herself to make wedding preparations. Harrold rises as she turnes to leave, whispering into her ear that he looks forward to a preview of their wedding night. Ignoring him, she leaves without even acknowledging she heard his suggestive remark. Long before evening, Harrold and his men are properly drunk and thoroughly enjoying the whores Baelish has on hand, much to Sansa' relief.

The gown the women have made is gorgeous, opulent and entirely too low cut for Sansa's taste. After her fittings, she chooses a veil in sheer iridescent silver tulle with seed pearls sewn along the hem. Staring at herself in her wedding clothes, Sansa no longer recognizes the painfully thin brunette peering expressionlessly back from the mirror. _I should be marrying Sandor, not that drunken fool downstairs,_ she bitterly fights back the hot tears already spilling down her gaunt cheeks. "Don't you like it milady? It will be ever so much lovelier when it is finished," the plump seamstress frets at her skirts.

"Oh, no dear ladies, it is the most beautiful dress I have ever owned," Sansa says and she means it. _If only I was marrying Sandor_. The women smile and titter comforting words, "All brides are nervous, dearie. The wedding night won't be so bad, don't worry your pretty head over it," their voices fade into the background as a sharp wrenching pain in her gut sends her to the floor.

The ladies help her over to the bed and pour her a glass of water. "Are you...already with child my lady?" The thinner gray headed dressmaker asks quietly. "Tis no matter to us lass but it would explain these spells for certain," the plump lady chimes in. "No no, I am not-but thank you for your concern. Maybe this is enough for today. Thank you both so much for coming," Sansa says as they quickly undress her. As soon as the women are out of sight, Sansa throws on her warmest blue woolen dress and cloak before quickly making her way out the back door toward the godswood.

Standing amongst the weirwood trees, Sansa watches fat snowflakes lazily drift down to the godswood floor. It is so peaceful and quiet, so pure and beautiful-and so unlike her home in the Eyrie. Closing her eyes, she sticks out her tongue, hoping to catch a snowflake. She used to do this with her brothers and sister. Laughing to herself, she savors the crisp taste as it melts on her tongue. _It tastes like Winterfell._ Sansa wonders if anyplace will ever feel like home again.

Laying down Sandor's cloak, she sits next to his memorial and writes his name in the fresh snow with her finger. "I love you Sandor...I have always loved you," she says out loud, her soft voice breaking the stillness of the forest.

"I know little bird, I know," a deep voice answers, its rasping tone like steel scraping against stone, shattering the peace of the godswood. Whirling around, Sansa sees a large brown hooded figure step out from behind the Heart tree. "Sandor?" she gasps, before her world fades into a hazy white fog.


	8. Together

For once in his fucking life, Littlefinger keeps his word. Save for a few curious glances from the guards, Sandor experiences no difficulty passing the last bastion of protection for the Eyrie inside the Mountains of the Moon. Cautiously cantering his way through the Blood Gate, Sandor eases up on Stranger's reigns, then decides to lead him on foot up the craggy narrow trail.

The warhorse carefully navigates the pass, and Sandor keeps his eyes keened on the granite slopes jutting outward from trail, remaining alert for the fierce mountain clans. Icy winds swirl through the heavy canopy of trees surrounding the Sky way-castle, making Sandor grateful he spent his extra coin on furs, new leather jerkins and pants instead of gambling away the hours he spent waiting out the storm.

By midday Sandor has made it through the worst of the trail and rounds a narrow bend. In the distance he spies an elderly clansmen approaching, hunched over a beleaguered packhorse. "What's the word, Silent Brother?" he laughs, recognizing Sandor's robes as coming from the Quiet Isle. "Heading to the Eyrie. What are you doing on this gods-be-damned trail this time of year, old timer?" Sandor replies, amused the shriveled man would tease him in spite of his holy robes.

"Got a homestead next to the crick two bends past. My wife died last night and the ground's frozen, came this way looking for a warmer spot to bury her," The man answers, glancing behind him at the bundle strapped to a wooden pallet. "Digging is my specialty," Sandor jumps off Stranger, offering his hand. "I noticed hot springs off the trail a ways west. The ground around it should be warm enough to dig a grave, even at this time of year."

Gesturing to his face, the man says,"I'm Carrig of the Stone Crows-I know you, Clegane. Your experience with fire makes you a legend of sorts around here." Frowning, Sandor recalls hearing of the Burnt Men clan of the Vale. "That so?" Grinning, Carrig continues his jest,"When did you go from cutting men down to giving 'em a proper burial?"

"Well I'm a changed man now, can't you tell? Just keep your mouth shut or I might end up the Hound yet again." Carrig laughs, "Makes me no matter boy, I'm too old to fear you. Help me with her now."

Sandor carefully lifts the pallet while the Carrig dismounts, leading his horse by the reigns toward the rising steam of the hot springs. Silently Carrig points out his spot and in an hour's time the work is done. Carrig wearily pats Sandor and offers a few coins. Shaking his head, Sandor watches the man for a moment, "You go on back to your cabin now, I won't take no money from you for this."

"I won't be going back there, Clegane. I built that place for my wife after I stole her some forty years hence. She was a highborn girl of twelve and scared to live amongst my Clan," he chuckles. "The gods did me a good turn with her. No, I'll go back to my people to live out my days. Littlefinger don't know the cabin, you're welcome to stay there should the need arise."

 _Smart old sod_ , Sandor smiles to himself. "Many thanks. What makes you think I'll need it?"

"You ain't here as no silent brother Clegane, that much I know." Leaning forward, he hands Sandor the claw of a shadow cat mounted on a leather string. "Hang this on the door, my people will know I gave it to you. Gods go with you now, for helping me with her." Clicking his tongue at the horse, Carrig disappears into the thick snow-covered evergreen brush.

Less than an hour later Sandor rounds the second bend where he notices two small river rock markers off the main trail. Knowing such a sign would go undetected by anyone unfamiliar with the Hill tribes, Sandor recognizes them as clan directions to Carrig's cabin. By late afternoon Sandor approaches the granite gates of the Eyrie. Moving off the main trail, Sandor struggles to still his mind while hiding Stranger among the pine boughs. Raw emotions churn within him as he nears Sansa.

Despite his eagerness to reach her, he needs a plan to handle Littlefinger. Noticing the godswood, Sandor decides to contemplate his options among the weirwoods. _It won't do to show up at the castle without Elder Brother. If I break my silence Littlefinger will recognize my rasping voice in an instant. If the sellsword's account of the little bird's mourning is true, in her current mental state my sudden appearance undoubtedly will cause Sansa great distress and likely cause great difficulty for us._

Deep in his soul, he feels Sansa's presence long before he lays eyes on her. The sound of snow crunching underfoot fills the silent godswood, breaking Sandor's reverie. _Could it be_....his heart violently pounds with anticipation, the sound echoing in his ears as the footsteps draw closer. A small blue form suddenly comes into view. She is frail and thinner than he can ever remember seeing her, exaggerating her cheekbones and giving her face an angular, haunting beauty. Her hair is no longer its natural fiery auburn but a dull reddish brown, confirming Sandor's idea about Littlefinger's trick to disguise her identity.

Sansa's eyes still remind him of the stunning blue swells of Blackwater rush, yet they lack the vibrancy he remembers in King's Landing. The drastic change in her appearance makes no difference to Sandor however; her beauty renders him breathless, sending a familiar throbbing pain straight to his heart as she draws close to the Heart tree.

Stabbing guilt courses through him, realizing her grief for him has wrought this dramatic change in her. His little bird appears a beaten, broken shell of her former self-and there is not a single part of Sandor that does not painfully ache for her. Rage boils within him. _What the fuck has Littlefinger done to her?_   Remaining motionless strains his self-control but in her weakened state he fears her response to his suddenly appearing out from behind the Heart tree.

Humming Florian and Jonquil, she tries catching the large snowflakes beginning to fall in her mouth, her sweet laughter filling the godswood when she captures one on her perfect pink tongue. Laying out a white cloak over the snow she sits down, seemingly comforted by what Sandor cannot tell. _No, it can't be_...recognition floods his senses-it is the same cloak he wore in King's Landing. Smiling sadly, tears silently begin to fall from her eyes as she traces her finger through the snow, "I love you Sandor...I have always loved you."

Her sweet declaration shatters him, sending his words pouring forth without warning. "I know little bird, I know." Gasping, she jumps to her feet with a start before falling backward, her small form sinking into the soft deep snow covering the forest floor. "Sansa!" He shouts, forgetting himself along with the need to be quiet. _Fuck_ , he scared the poor Little Bird out of her wits-just what he was trying to avoid. He is not far from her but she has already plunged deep into the powdery snow, soaking her clothes and hair through in moments. Quickly he scoops her into his arms. Shaking her several times, he calls to her with no response.

Unable to fathom he may lose her so suddenly, desperation fills his words, "Come back to me now, damn it!" he growls, ripping off his brown robe and wrapping her securely next to his body. Moaning, Sansa whispers his name, smiling slightly as she touches his face. Hoisting her onto Stranger in an instant, he races back to Carrig's cabin with his little bird tucked close to him. "Are you real?" she whispers weakly. "Aye, little bird, I'm here-you're safe now."

Racing Stranger along the icy trail, Sandor arrives at the trail markers. Dismounting, he carefully leads Stranger through the thick underbrush toward a heavy crag outcropping; on the other side lies Carrig's discretely hidden cabin. Modest yet comfortable with firewood stacked under the porch, after scanning the area Sandor feels the hideaway is relatively safe for their needs. Carrying her inside, he gently removes her wet clothes and shift, leaving her in only her bottom small clothes. Seeing her so thin becomes frightening as he undresses her: her ribs stick out below her breasts, and sharp hip bones alarmingly jut out from her sides. _What the fuck has Littlefinger done to her? Why did I wait so long to come to here?_

Sandor bars the door and bundles her securely in the furs covering the bed situated next to the hearth. Working quickly, he hopes the fire will provide her with sufficient heat even as her pale pallor takes on a bluish tinge around her lips. Sansa shivers uncontrollably, her tears remain frozen to her cheeks in spite of her many layers. Stripping down to his smallclothes Sandor climbs under the covers beside her. Gently he cradles her back next to his chest while wrapping his body around her own and soon he feels her chilled skin beginning to heat up under his touch, their bodies creating a pleasant warmth under the furs.

"You're alright now, little bird, you're alright" he whispers into her ear, unable to resist nuzzling into the nape of her neck. Sighing softly, she presses back against him."I don't want to open my eyes Sandor. If this is a dream, I wish to stay here with you."

"I'm real, little bird. Look at me now," he says, turning her over towards him and pressing her tightly against his chest. Reveling in feeling her supple skin next to his own, he tenderly caresses her back and tries not enjoy the feeling of her soft breasts pressing enticingly against his chest in her dire state. Turning her face up to his, he holds her chin a moment and finally Sansa allows herself to look him in the face, "She said you were dead," she sobs, tears of happiness flooding her beautiful eyes as she meets his gaze. "My love, I have missed you...I prayed for you to come back to me."

"Aye, I know Sansa..I can't explain how but I felt you, all the way from the Quiet Isle. My dreams of you..." he trails off, at a loss for words, suddenly too embarrassed to give further voice to his feelings. "I know, I had dreams of you too. Vivid and they felt so real...I cannot find the words to express it myself. I feel connected to you, somehow...is that crazy?"

Holding his face in her hands she caresses his cheeks, all the while seemingly finding it difficult to believe he is with her. "No little bird, it's not crazy. I might have thought so if I hadn't felt the same thing..." Suddenly he is very aware of their bare skin radiating their shared warmth, his body strongly responding to the feel of her pressing against him.

Though initially he believed she would feel shy finding herself in his arms undressed, she throws her arms around his neck and laughs happily, pulling even closer to him while covering his face with kisses as though she was accustomed to doing so. "How did you find me?"

"A big female knight came looking for me. Elder Brother told her the Hound was dead, which is true little bird-I want no more of being a Lannister dog or anyone else's for that matter. She suspected you weren't Baelish's daughter and her squire thought he recognized you. I had to see for myself. Baelish sent his man to the Quiet Isle looking for a septon willing to marry you off despite being wedded the Imp. He's with Elder Brother a day or so behind me."

"So you came all this way? Thank the gods-I was afraid they would not hear me!" She cries, pulling him close once more. Sandor cannot help but wonder if she notices his arousal pressed against her stomach.

"Would you like to cover up, Sansa?" He asks, knowing he should broach the subject even as he is loath to turn loose of her. Blushing suddenly, she looks away shyly for a moment before meeting his eyes once more, "No, please, not yet. Feeling you like this...it just soothes my heart, Sandor, even though I know it is...well, difficult for you and...not proper for a lady."

 _So she has noticed_ , he thinks, thrilled she is unwilling to end their embrace, just as desperate as he to prolong their intimacy for a few precious moments longer. "Forgive me Sandor, please. I should have told you how much you meant to me in King's Landing. I couldn't live with myself, thinking you had passed on without knowing I loved you."

"Shh, none of that, little bird. It is behind us now. I would not have believed you even if you told me then. I thought such a lovely highborn girl as yourself would never have any use for an ugly scarred son of a kennel master."

"No, no...I,"

"Sansa, I wanted you more than anything back there but I was too brutal and rough, not fit for you. I didn't know any other way to get what I wanted but through force. Why do you think I took a song from you at knifepoint? I'm a bastard and make no mistake. It sickens me knowing I left you in the fucking lion's den to the Imp-that perverted bastard," bitterly he turns away, unable to bear the look of disgust he feels she is bound to give him.

"I needed time to change, Sansa-believe that lass, and being on the Quiet Isle gave me a measure of peace, though I don't believe I was meant for such a life. I learned a quite a bit from my time there and I have changed, not entirely but somewhat at least."

Caressing his back, she replies,"You came to me needing comfort that night. You didn't know it was yours for the asking so you took it the only way you knew how. I was too much of a child to know what to do."

"I came to you drunk off my ass, to fuck you and steal you away. You don't have to pretty it up, woman," he growls, too ashamed to face her.

"Well, what other way did you know to receive comfort? It was all you knew then...but you realized you needed more than that, even in such a state-that says something good about you, doesn't it?"

Burying his face in her shoulder, he doesn't answer. _Maybe it does after all, maybe that is why the gods spared me. Why didn't they spare you?_  "I forgave you long ago my love and I hope you can forgive me for not being more helpful. Let us put it behind us. We are both so very different now." Reaching for his face, she slowly presses her mouth to his in a soft, tentative kiss, the feel of her mouth on his own sending Sandor to the seven heavens.

"You have nothing to be sorry for Sansa-you have given me more than you know," he answers huskily, his emotions threatening to overtake him. Hot tears wet Sansa's shoulder, running down her bare back. "I am yours, as you are mine, Sandor," she whispers, kissing him once more.

"Aren't you wed to the Imp?"

"Not in truth, if you understand me. He never touched me, and I was forced into my vows-I doubt the Seven even acknowledges such an atrocity. Petyr stole me away from him; I think he eventually hopes I will be his."

Barely able to contain his rage, Sandor hisses,"So that's what he's about?"

"Petyr is determined my marriage to Tyrion will be annulled, once my maidenhead is proven...then he plans to wed me to Harrold Hardyng," she shivers involuntarily at her own words.

Fury rises up in him the instant her words reach his ears."I'll fucking well kill all those bastards and put an end to this shit once and for all," he snarls. Staring directly into his eyes, she declares with sudden firmness, "It matters not to me what anyone believes but us, my love."

Sandor's heart swims with emotion, his heart and body overwhelmed with love for her. "Be my wife, Sansa," he chokes out, desperately clinging to her. "Yes, my love, as soon as you wish," she answers, deepening their kiss, sending passion surging through Sandor. Unable to maintain his control he gently he moves away from her. "Under the Heart tree, then."

Smiling, she nods while gathering the furs around her as he pulls on his pants. "Why isn't that fucking bastard Littlefinger looking for you out in this freezing weather?"

"The engagement party is going on as we speak, they are all very intoxicated and very charmed by the entertainment by now, I am sure."

Scoffing, Sandor sits next to her, "Littlefinger brought whores to your engagement party?! Why that little worthless piece of..." Placing her finger over his lips, she smiles, "Don't be too angry-how else would you have met me in the godswood?"

Laughing, he kisses her, "Aye, you've grown into a smart Little Bird at that, love. We need to make some plans to get you away from the whole lot of them, once and for all." Pulling her close, Sandor presses his mouth to hers in a long kiss, reveling in the feeling of being loved and needed for the first time in his life.


	9. The Healing of Sansa

Safe and secure at long last Sansa blossoms open like a winter rose in Sandor's arms and for the first time her reality is more beautiful than her dreams. Nestling into his muscular chest while listening to his plans, she finally allows herself to relax for the first time since reaching the Eyrie over a year ago. Darkness has overshadowed her for so long she finds it hard to accept this new reality full of hope suddenly thrust upon her.

Many questions fill her mind that she cannot bring herself to ask just yet, fearing the answers will spoil the cherished happiness they have found together. Hanging on each precious word from him, Sansa can hardly believe she is reunited with her beloved Sandor, afraid this is all just a beautiful dream ready to disappear at any moment. Sansa's connection with him continues to heighten in his presence, soothing her frayed mind and shattered heart.

She finds herself very conscious of their skin pressed together creating an arousing warmth that spreads throughout her entire body. Sandor's hardened manhood is markedly noticeable against her belly; her own body responds to him with a sudden rush of wetness between her legs, her heart beating rapidly in her chest.

A sudden wave of shyness flushes Sansa's cheeks; she feels as naked as her nameday lying in Sandor's arms wrapped only in furs. She wonders if he can feel the wetness soaking through her smallclothes and her heart pounding against his chest. She averts her eyes, hoping her blushing in his arms will escape his notice as he speaks of their future. _Does he think me wanton? S_ he worries as she smiles up at him.

Sandor pulls away slightly, studying her face."Are you feeling feverish, little bird?" A slight smile emerges from her lips and she shakes her head ever so slightly. "No, I am only feeling...very warm." Chuckling knowingly, he kisses her forehead, "Are you now? Whatever would your septa say to that, Lady Sansa?" Reaching under her furs, he begins caressing her bare back down to her hips in even rhythmic strokes.

Hearing Sandor's voice rasping her name sends shivers of pleasure throughout her body. Being with him in this intimate position is all she has prayed and wished for many months. Sansa wonders if he has wanted the same with her. Smiling she whispers,"Being so close to you...touching you so intimately while we have this powerful connection, it's just so very...intense. I...I've never had such feelings."

"Aye, that it is love, very intense indeed...this is a first for both of us little bird. You feeling better now?" His little bird deserves to be made his wife before he beds her but Sandor finds it damn near impossible to hold himself back whe she is lying in his arms, looking at him with unmistakable desire in her eyes.

Unable to resist, Sandor begins kissing her below the ear. Slowly he nibbles his way to her collarbone, sending heated sparks of arousal throughout her body. Letting the furs fall away, she forgets all inhibition and moans and grips his neck, running her fingers through his long black hair. "Yes, Sandor...oh my love."

Growling low, he takes her breast into his mouth, languidly tracing every curve of her nipple with his tongue, awakening a new overwhelming passion within her. Gasping, Sansa wraps her legs around his waist, drawing his hips close to hers, her entire body hungering for more of him in every way possible. "I need you so my love," she whispers hoarsely. "Take me, Sandor. I am yours."

A deep groan resonating through his chest, Sandor runs his hands down to her hips and pulls her body flush with his own, grinding his manhood against her woman's place, eliciting a long moan from Sansa's throat. As he licks and kisses his way down her stomach Sandor suddenly pauses, taking notice of her clearly visible ribs protruding from her body in a most alarming manner.

Fear for her health instantly overrides his ardent passion for her. "What is this? Just what the fuck has he been doing to you?" He asks running his large hand across her stomach and sides. "Oh, that... I have only lost weight." Pulling the furs further down, he carefully pulls down her smallclothes and runs his fingers over the sharp points of her pelvic bones jutting out from her hips, his touch sending shivers of pleasure through Sansa. "Answer me Little Bird," he softens his tone, trying to still the rage seeping into his voice so she will speak freely.

"Must we speak of this now, my love?" she whispers shyly, blushing furiously under Sandor's heated gaze. "Yes, gods damn it, now woman. I must know, tell me," he repeats a bit more forcefully. "Littlefinger is as good as dead for this...I'll skin him alive ever bit as good as one of those fucking Boltons."

Insecurity creeps over her. "It isn't that Lord Baelish is denying me food, my love. I am so nervous with him around all the time-and well, he's always trying to kiss me or...press himself against me. Every day I wake up and shudder to think what will happen-you have no idea the constant fear I feel with him. I cannot keep anything down, Sandor...and once I learned of your death, I gave up trying," she blurts out, hot tears welling in her eyes.

Guilt wracks Sandor's mind and heart. He has always regretted not forcibly taking her with him the night of the Blackwater. Sickened with the knowledge her fear and grief has led to her frail condition, he briefly looks away from her, so full of shame he is unable to meet her gaze. Closing his eyes, his thoughts go back to his gnawing stomach pain on the Quiet Isle. Now he understands he was experiencing Sansa's suffering as she tried to eat with Baelish.

Sandor lays his head on her breast and begins tenderly caressing her stomach and sides. "No little bird, you are a wolf; you mustn't give up now. You must eat for your own sake or you won't recover. This not eating business cannot continue, do you hear me?" He says. She runs her fingers through his hair. "Yes, I'll try to eat better, I promise."

"Right now we start," he says, using all of his self control to pull away from her and get out of bed. Although he  allowed himself to get carried away in the heat of the moment having her in his arms, he will not have her give herself to him in such a weakened state. "How long have you been ill like this?" he asks quietly, knowing full well it must be at least two months since Brienne visited the Eyrie. "Uh, about two moons I would say," she answers, confirming his fears. "Why the fuck has Baelish let you go on like this for so long? Littlefucker could at least have sent for a maester and have as many lemoncakes as you can eat available."

"He provided delicacies...but the food wasn't the problem," she whispers, looking out the window. Scanning over the carefully set up canning on the shelves, he surveys the assorted dried meats and vegetables. "No more not eating and no more fearing that little bastard, either. I will keep you safe, believe that Sansa."

"I believe you...I will eat, I promise. I know I am no longer pleasant to look upon," she mutters while she hastily covers herself once more. Moving onto the bed beside her, Sandor takes her hand away from the covers.

"Don't do that. Never hide from me Sansa. You are and always will be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen...I've wanted you ever since I laid eyes on you in Winterfell." He sighs, pulling her close to his chest. "I remember how you were after your father died-I had to get you out of bed. This time your grief and fear have just about overtaken you. Damn it Sansa, I won't lose you after I've just found you. I love you and I want you healthy and strong, alright?" Smiling, she nods as she watches him closely.

Pulling out a muslin pouch filled with alfalfa, he puts a kettle of water on to boil. "Elder brother has been teaching me the art of healing herbs for the past few months. Drink this three times a day, it will help you put on weight and give you strength. You need lots of meat and milk, too. I'll see what I can fix us for supper."

Sniffing the pouch, she jerks her head away suddenly, causing Sandor to bark out a laugh. "Oh! That doesn't smell very good, does it?" Wrinkling her nose, she sips from the steaming mug slowly. "How did you find this place?" Sansa asks, looking around the cabin. "I helped an old Stone Crow bury his wife; this was their place. He offered to let me stay in it, said he was going back to his people."

"I wish we never had to leave."

Sandor grunts but says nothing, busying himself with the meal to avoid her next question. Sansa can feel he's trying to delay thinking about later but she knows it must be brought up."I have to go back tonight Sandor, to Petyr-we both know that. If I just disappear now he would follow us to the ends of the Seven Kingdoms."

Sighing deeply Sandor pauses, struggling to control his fury at the thought of returning his little fragile bird to Baelish."Yes, I know-I'm working out the details still but you will be safe Sansa. I'll take you back in a while. Let's enjoy our meal first." Turning to her he lifts her chin, looking her straight in the eyes. "You must trust me Sansa. I won't let him hurt you, I promise. I'm walking into the Eyrie with you whether Littlefucker likes it or not and the Warrior himself could not stop me."

"Of course I trust you. But Sandor how-" Moving away from her, he pulls out a small wooden chair and fills her tin bowl, then his own. "Not now, Little Bird; now you eat your dinner. Come on over her and sit with me, tell me how you like my cooking."

Dinner is a simple vegetable and venison stew, made with the dried meat and canned vegetables stocked in the cabin. For Sansa, it will long be remembered as the first and most delicious meal she ever ate with Sandor. He does not press her and she finishes two bowls before pushing her dishes away. "Thank you Sandor, that was delicious. This is the first meal that has tasted good to me in over a month at least...and the best company I've enjoyed, too."

Sandor grins and gives her a cup of hot water with mint sprigs. "This will ease your stomach pains. Drink it whenever it hurts and after your meals, understand? I'll take some with us so you will have it at the Eyrie. You need plenty of Dornish red for strength- don't drink that shitty Arbor gold the ladies favor, you hear? Fucking Littlefinger must have some of the good stuff on hand."

At his words Sansa bursts into laughter, her lovely voice filling Sandor's heart with hope that in time his beautiful little bird will recover from her ordeal, both mentally and physically. Her laugh soon dissolves into sleepiness and she stifles a yawn. "Must we leave now? I am so tired, could we rest a bit more?"

"Aye, we'll rest. You need to sleep as much as you like when you're in the Eyrie if you want to regain your strength." Sandor replies, lying down beside her pulling her close to him. Smiling she takes his hand draped around her waist and kisses it. "Then you'll have to come in and sleep beside me."

"Aye woman, I'll kill any man that tries to keep me away, you best believe that." he growls into her ear, kissing her neck. Basking in his tender embrace, once more Sansa is lulled into a deep restful sleep. Content with having his precious love cradled next to his heart, Sandor follows suit, a deep sleep quickly overtaking him as well.

Blue moonlight seeps in through the frosted cabin window, awakening Sandor. Glancing over at Sansa, he cannot help but stare at her. Her beautiful features relaxed in slumber, her full red lips part as her breathing comes deep and even and he does not wish to rouse her from her peaceful dreams. It must be the first deep sleep the little bird has had in months and he cannot bear disturbing her. Shivering with dread, Sandor's heart aches at the very thought he must return her to Baelish.

Carefully moving away from her, he looks out at the night sky. By the position of the moon he can see the hour is somewhere close to midnight. One more look at Sansa sleeping peacefully snuggled into the furs, he makes up his mind: he'll take her back in the morning.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The engagement festivities in the Eyrie wind down around the third phase of the moon. Soldiers and whores alike occupy every available room and alcove in the chasmal guest quarters of the castle. Disentangling himself from Ros's arms, Petyr rises and wraps his silk robe around his body, then quietly leaves her slumbering in his room. Walking down the hall, he speaks to Sansa's maid. "How is Lady Alayne this evening?"

"Milady ate and went to bed early after her last fitting. Poor thing, she was suffering stomach pains and looks very tired Ser. All the wedding excitement, mayhaps."

"No visitors-her betrothed, perhaps?" he raises his eyebrow at her in mock suspicion. 'Oh no my lord. Her honor is quite safe, I assure you."

Smiling knowingly he curtly nods and turns the handle on her door. Satisfied finding the room darkened and the door locked, he stealthily moves down the stairs to the guest rooms.

Coughing loudly several times, he watches the doors carefully; soon one of his finest trained girls, a lovely blond named Selene, peeks out from one of the rooms and winks at him. "Did you make sure he drank all of the wine as I asked?"

Nodding, she smiles slyly at Petyr. "Of course, Lord Baelish-I made sure he was quite thirsty. With no garderobe in that room I expect he should be trying to get up soon," she giggles and Petyr laughs in return.

"Good girl, two gold dragons for your work here my dear," he says, slipping the coins into her corset. "Tis nothing, my lord. Should you require anything more, I'll be in the room at the end of the hall." Baelish smiles and dismisses her without a word and then shifts into a darkened alcove, watching for Harry's appearance.

A half hour passes and Baelish's mood turns impatient, anxiously pacing as he waits for Harry to enter the hall. Loud banging echoes in the corridor; Petyr recognizes it is coming from from Harry's room and slips back into the shadows just as the young knight slowly emerges, holding his head.

Rounding the corner, Baelish calls merrily, "Dearest goodson, what tears you away from such warm and willing company? Is Selene not to your taste? I will find you another if you wish, even more beautiful-what say you?"

Laughing harshly Harry replies, "Yes, later though. I need the garderobe, my room does not have one." Tisking, Baelish shakes his head, "An unfortunate oversight, allow me to offer my sincerest apologies-I will amend the situation at once. I have another larger room free and prepared for guests near the staircase. Follow me," he waves his hand and walks away before Harry can protest.

Reaching the winding staircase, Baelish gestures to the second room closest to the alcove. "Isn't this room here closest to the stairs?" Harry asks, stepping backward toward the top step. Eyes widening, Baelish nods emphatically. " I believe you are right, this one then. Forgive me, I too have enjoyed quite a bit of wine this evening."

As Harry steps closer to the staircase, Petyr slyly grins at the young man, "You should have never trusted the voice of a mockingbird, Harrold Hardyng," he hisses before reaching out and roughly shoving Harry backward, the young man's startled shout suddenly silenced by his head squarely striking the marble landing below. Smirking, Petyr looks around a moment before hurrying back to Ros.


	10. Together the Bond Grows Deeper

Yearning for his beloved Sansa has wrought an unrelenting turmoil in Sandor's mind and body unlike anything he has ever experienced and the soothing warmth of his Little Bird nestled in his arms embraces Sandor in a deep abiding serenity. It is all he has wished for ever since he left her in King's Landing and he can scarcely believe that she is here, safe in his arms at last. The comfort she brings him is both unfamiliar and most welcome and he relishes having her close to him. Being in her company has made Sandor realize the depth of their bond is far more than shared emotions or physical suffering; it is a joining of heart and soul, of body and mind, leaving him at a loss to understand such an unusual phenomena.

The chilled early morning draft wafts under the cabin door and Sandor awakens to find Sansa snuggling close to his chest, her bare body exposed as her modest arrangement of furs lay cast off, forgotten in slumber. Gazing at her tiny form in his arms, he is relieved to find her ivory skin now exudes a healthful blush. Though painfully thin, she is more beauty than he ever expected to see in life and he cradles his cherished beloved close to his heart, eager to prolong their blissful rest.

Frosted sunlight filters through the icy window and illuminates the room, reflecting the fiery natural color in Sansa's dark brown mane now spread across Sandor's muscular chest like a shawl, the familiar site bringing a smile to his face. She is so very warm and beautiful and alive Sandor can hardly believe this is not yet another of his fevered dreams.

Feeling her feather-light fingertips tenderly stroking the twisted marred flesh covering his forearm, Sandor's mind is momentarily distracted from her and unwittingly he returns to the brutal trial by fire against Beric Dondarrion. It is just one of many battles permanently seared into his flesh but Sandor resents the physical reminder of his past crimes for which the Brotherhood Without Banners sought his punishment.

No doubt Sansa remains unaware of this so-called trial, least of all that it was brought on in part by her little sister. With the little wolf bitches' quick temper, eagerness for fighting and desire for vengeance, it is no wonder Arya passed for his daughter so convincingly during their travels. Looking back Sandor cannot help but chuckle to himself at the memory of the little hellion; never has he seen two sisters more dissimilar than the Stark girls and yet both possess a intractable steely willpower he admires just the same.

He no longer wishes to remember the bitter, vengeful Hound that lived only to seek revenge on Gregor-he and Elder Brother buried that miserable creature once and for all on the Quiet Isle. With much inner struggling, Sandor vigorously worked daily to change his violent tendencies and the memory of his beautiful Little Bird was the nourishment that sustained him. Even though she was far removed from him while he recovered on the Quiet Isle, she nevertheless infused him with the strength to begin the process of overcoming the darker side of his nature. Elder Brother has shown him the important role his love for her has played in his transformation and he longs to return the favor, helping her as she has helped him.

Reluctant to interrupt her delicate exploration Sandor lies motionless, pretending to be fast asleep while he watches Sansa beneath lowered eyelids. Reverentially running her fingers over his leathery scars, Sandor feels her warm soft lips placing gentle kisses on the fresh deeper discolorations. Sandor cannot remember the last time anyone touched him with such deep affection and Sansa's arousing caresses send Sandor to the Seven Heavens.

His pleasure is interrupted by the feeling of her tears showering his skin. Sandor is about to reach for her when he hears Sansa whisper sadly, "My love, who would hurt you in such a way?" Never has she been so bold with him and he knows the intense bond they share accounts for her temporary lapse in shyness. Sandor wants nothing more to be joined to her in body as they are in mind and heart. He craves her with every ounce of his being, longs to taste her, to bury himself inside of her, for the two of them to become one flesh at last. Inside he knows Sansa deserves to be made his wife before he makes love to her and he will not press his advantage when she is in such a fragile mental and physical state.

Her attention soon falls on the fresh scarring from his final battle with Gregor's men at the inn. Sansa's heart aches at the sight of the physical remnants of the terrible suffering he has endured and she feels inexplicably drawn to replace his pain with her love. Softly she places delicate kisses over the wounds on his hip and thigh, gliding her hands over his skin in tender strokes, so intent on comforting him she is unaware her actions have ignited Sandor's simmering lust into a raging passion.

Sansa squeaks out a protest as he suddenly gathers her against his chest once more. "Seven Hells woman but I can barely resist you," he growls in her ear, heatedly kissing her neck. Laughing, she tilts her head to give him better access. Afraid if he continues he may not be able to stop himself, he abruptly pulls away, needing to distance himself from her if he is to maintain his self control. "Little Bird, I would make you my wife first before...we get any closer," he explains, his voice hoarse with desire. Blushing a deep shade of red, she shyly looks away, a small smile playing across her lips before suddenly bringing his face down to hers and covering his mouth in a deep kiss. "Yes, I would like that too Sandor."

Sansa clings to his neck as happy tears fall from her eyes; grinning, Sandor tenderly brushes them from her cheeks. "We'll have our time, Little Bird." Pulling her furs closer, she shyly places her hand over his heart."Forgive me...you must think me wanton being so...free with you here but I feel such a close bond with you, as though in our hearts we are already married." Sandor has felt the same way ever since he held her in the godswood and he is startled to hear Sansa is experiencing the same intense emotional response as well.

Smiling, he rhythmically strokes her back and down her hips, savoring the feel of her soft warm body in his arms. His love and need for her has reached an all consuming level and her closeness clouds his thinking as he tries to convey his feelings. "You don't need to apologize...I feel the same way. You are so beautiful, I admit I forgot myself too, Little Bird. But more than that...this type of attachment is very powerful and seems to get even stronger the longer we are together." Shaking his head, he pauses and gathers his thoughts before he continues. "As it is now I'm likely to kill that fucker Littlefinger as soon as I see him. If we were to be intimate ...I am not sure I would be able to contain my anger towards him after that, Sansa-my feelings for you are too strong."

"I understand Sandor, in my heart I feel it too. If we...were any closer that I doubt I would be able to maintain the secrecy of our relationship. Be assured I will gladly wait for our intimacy my love." Caressing his face she softly asks, "In Winterfell we kept the old gods, even with my septa there. I do not remember if there is a teaching to explain such things-do you have any idea how this bond between us came about?"

Burying his face in her neck, Sandor tries to recall Elder Brother's words; having her in his arms drives away everything but her and he finds it difficult to articulate his thoughts. "I'll let Elder Brother explain it to you-he is better with words than I am. I wish him to marry us under the Heart tree as soon as you are ready." Tears fill her eyes and determined to maintain her composure she hesitates, struggling for words. "I am ready to marry you as soon as the Elder Brother agrees. I can feel you Sandor, inside my heart. Can you not feel the depth of my love for you?"

Waves of deep emotion suddenly wash over his heart and Sandor is so overwhelmed he finds it difficult to distinguish his own feelings from hers. "Yes, I feel it Little Bird...so much so it makes thinking bloody difficult." Smiling, Sansa is glad she is not alone in being completely overpowered by her feelings. Still she cannot forget what she has seen on his body and longs to know what happened to him during their time apart. Tenderly she strokes his arm as she whispers, "Please my love, tell me what happened to you-how did you get such scars?"

"A group of outlaws calling themselves the Brotherhood without Banners-fucking craven bastards. They held a mock trial for my supposed crimes in service of the Lannisters. Once I was convicted I chose trial by combat with their leader." Raising her eyebrow to him she asks, "Their leader-do you know his name?" Holding her close, Sandor can feel Sansa's body suddenly begin trembling. "Beric Dondarrion." Sensing her mounting anxiety he asks low, "Sansa, do you know him?"

Sansa shakes her head sadly. "No, not really. I only have seen the man once-I doubt I would even recognize him now. It's just that...this may sound far fetched but he...well, after my mother was murdered by the Freys..." she trails off, uncertain how to explain the dark magic employed by Beric and the abomination it spawned in her mother's corpse. Understanding her struggle Sandor offers, "That woman Brienne told us, Little Bird...about what has become of Lady Catelyn. I am very sorry."

Grief for her beloved mother and all she has lost finally breaks free at last and Sansa sobs uncontrollably in his arms, her anguish pouring out of her body in waves of bitter tears. From his own excruciating experiences Sandor is cognizant that Sansa must vent her long suppressed misery in order to recover. Nevertheless, watching her acute affliction is physically and emotionally painful for him; Sandor wraps his arms around her tightly, enveloping her body with his own. "I've got you Little Bird. As you well know I am no stranger to grief; you have kept this hidden for so long it has poisoned you. Just let go my love."

Sansa's tears flow unabated for what feels like an eternity to Sandor, her torment generates a gut wrenching pain throughout his body. After exhausting her tears, her breathing slowly returns to normal as Sandor strokes her hair, whispering words of comfort against her forehead. Quickly Sansa falls back into a sound sleep once more against his chest, fully at ease now that she finally is at liberty to grieve for her family.

Sandor spends the next few hours contemplating their return to the Eyrie and when Sansa awakens he is sitting on her side of the bed fully dressed, ready to leave. Watching her carefully he moves closer as she starts to get out of bed. "Before we eat and head back to the Eyrie, there's a few things we should talk over first, alright?" Sitting beside him, she eyes him questioningly. "Of course my love. What is it?" Noting her worried expression, Sandor carefully reaches under her legs and lifts her onto his lap, cradling her body against his broad chest. Tilting her face up to his, he speaks his words slow and deliberately.

"You will be safe with me there Sansa, I swear it on all of the gods, both old and new. I will kill Littlefucker and anyone that stand in my way is as good as dead, understand? I will make him beg the Stranger to take him if he so much as lifts a hand to you. Do you trust me?" Moved by the violent determination in his voice, she smiles and nods and despite his fearsome demeanor she is reassured by his fierce protectiveness.

Searching her eyes, he is satisfied he has her confidence."Good. Now you must promise to trust me entirely, Sansa. You must not let fear overtake you. You cannot give any indication to Littlefinger that you know me or that anything has changed-do just as you would in King's Landing. Promise me." Sansa has learned all too well how to spout her mindless replies and this time it will serve a special purpose. Sandor needs his Little Bird to sing her courtesies and chirp on command if they are to succeed in escaping the Vale. "Yes-yes of course, I promise." Satisfied, he pats her thighs gently. "Remember, you cannot look at me, speak to me directly or call me by any name other than Silent Brother. I will always be close by, even if you cannot see me. Elder Brother knows your true identity and also has promised to help us-it won't be easy but I will get you away from Littlefucker once and for all."

Still uninhibited by her state of undress she curls both arms around his neck before asking, "How did Elder Brother learn my identity?" The feel of her warm body snuggled against his own and her soft skin under his hands sends heated desire through Sandor's body. Clearing his throat, he carefully sets her on her feet and rises. "That's a story I'll tell you on the road Little Bird-I fixed us some food to break our fast, once you're dressed and fed we can be on our way, what say you?"

Covering herself in the nearest fur and blushing deeply, Sansa looks down and nods, then reaches for her clothes and steps behind the changing screen. Forcibly turning away from her, he busies himself readying their supplies while she dresses. When she is finished, she tentatively steps out from behind the screen and shyly smiles as he turns to look at her. For a moment her beauty renders him speechless and he stares at her openly, drinking in the sight of her. The dark blue woolen gown sets off the returning red in her waist length hair and brings out the crystal cerulean color in her eyes. Unable to resist, he reaches for her hand and draws her close to him.

Carefully looking her over he comments,"Something seems to be missing, Little Bird." Glancing over her gown she adjusts her belt, then gasps as she raises her hand to where she normally wears his hairpin. "Is this what you are looking for?" he rasps softly, holding out the jeweled bird hair ornament. Laughing, she takes it from his hand, then throws her arms around his neck, tumbling them both back onto the bed as she covers his face with kisses. Gently pulling away from her, he pointedly clears his throat once more before muttering, "Being around you has my blood up all the time, Little Bird. As much as I would love to spend the day in bed with you I've got to get you back to the Eyrie. Elder Brother should be close by now."

Clearing her throat loudly in imitation of him, Sansa giggles as she sits down at the table and places the pin in her hair. Bowing exaggeratedly toward him she replies in her best Cersei imitation, "Your plans are acceptable, Silent Brother." Surprised he jerks his head toward her suddenly, his startled expression bringing even louder giggles from Sansa as she cocks her head at him in amusement. "Think that's funny, do you woman?" he growls, unable to keep his lips from twitching into a smile at the sight of her trying to stifle her mirth.

His words send Sansa into peals of laughter and Sandor soon joins her, overjoyed by her happy response. Eyes sparkling with mischief, her entire face lights up in charming delight as she merrily she reaches out to squeeze his hand. Sansa's touch fills Sandor's heart with contentment and for the first time he joyfully discovers he can discern her happiness as well. "This is the sweetest song you've ever sang for me, Little Bird. I hope to hear an even sweeter one from you one day soon."

Making the most of the last few precious moments alone, Sandor and Sansa break their fast regaling each other with funny stories and laughing as happily as newlyweds in spite of their precarious situation. As Sandor finishes saddling Stranger and locking up the cabin, a familiar dread washes over him; he recognizes it is Sansa's fear of Littlefinger returning to her. There is nothing more he can say to reassure her, so he wraps his arms around her and pulls her tightly against his chest one last time before they leave for the Eyrie. "I love you Little Bird. I won't let anything happen to you," he whispers in her hair as he strokes her back. "As I love you Sandor. Might we stop at the godswood to pray before we return?" Sighing, Sandor nods in agreement. "Yes, we'll need all the help we can get. Maybe Elder Brother will be there by now." Swinging her up onto Stranger's back, Sandor gently spurs the warhorse out of the densely wooded glen toward the castle.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By mid morning thick clouds billow up over the Vale, bringing the crisp smell of snow to the godswood. "Work faster-the weather will be upon us soon!" hisses Petyr Baelish. Overseeing two Stone Crows digging furiously into the soft earth around the deep gray hot springs next to the Heart tree, he careless kicks the corpse at his feet in frustration. The body of Harrold Hardyng, wrapped in plain white silken sheets and carefully bound with ropes lies ignominiously in death beneath the weirwood trees on the cold ground of the godswood. "This must be finished before Lady Alayne comes down for breakfast. For the love of the Seven men, I will make it worth your while-so move, damn you!"

Frowning, the first man taps his spade lightly, then kneels down for a closer inspection. "M'lord, something is already buried here. What ya suppose it be?" Gritting his teeth, Baelish walks forward and peers inside, "That's impossible Seamus, no one-" Eyes widening, the grizzled man lifts out a muddy black sack and holds it out to Petyr. Smirking in derision, Baelish gingerly opens it and lifts out the yellow satin sack Sansa made for Sandor's cloak. "What you s'pose it is?" Seamus asks, puzzled by Petyr's hardened expression. Frowning, he eyes the three black dogs carefully stitched into the material as being the sigil of the Clegane family, remembering Gregor wore the same coat of arms the day of the Hand's Tourney. "I'm not quite sure yet, men."

Turning, he walks some distance and barks for them to continue their digging. Opening the sack, Petyr is startled to find Sandor's bloody white velvet Kingsguard cloak carefully folded inside. Gasping, his face twists in rage as he recalls the the night of the Blackwater battle, watching from the safety of Maegor's Holdfast as Sandor unceremoniously told Joffrey and Tyrion to fuck off. He was wearing his Kingsguard cloak then...always a fastidious man, Petyr immediately noticed it was covered in blood and filth.

"Where in Seven Hells did this come from?" Petyr mutters aloud, unable to fathom the obvious conclusion. How could it have possibly escaped his notice that the garment has been in Sansa's possession the entire time they have lived at the Eyrie? Why would she hold onto such a disgusting item in the first place? If she has been hiding this, what else is she keeping from him?

Turning back to the workers, he curtly announces, "I have important business to attend, men. Don't let me find that body unburied when I return-and you'd better hope for your sake Lady Alayne doesn't find you out here, understand?" Glancing around, he quickly stuffs everything back inside the black bag before hurrying to the castle, grumbling under his breath, "Let's just see what my beloved daughter has to say about this!"


	11. Return to the Eyrie

Covered in furs, Sansa snuggles down against Sandor's chest as they travel through the craggy trail leading to the Eyrie. Covering his face, only Sandor's eyes are visible beneath the cowl of his sacred robes. Safe and secure in his powerful arms, Sansa savors these final moments alone, knowing it will be a long time before they can enjoy such closeness again. Recognizing such intimacy will abruptly come to an end makes the experience even more precious to Sansa.  She is determined to commit each detail to memory in hopes it will sustain her until they are free to be together at last.

They travel in silence below the main trail through the Vale to avoid undue attention, though so far they have not seen another soul the entire way. Closing her eyes, she focuses only on Sandor and every facet of his being: the way his stormy gray eyes glitter when he looks at her, his muscular thighs made hard from hours on horseback holding her securely in the saddle, the warmth of his battle hardened chest pressing against her back with each of Stranger's steps. Sandor's drab brown woolen robe scratches against her cheek, his soothing strong hands tenderly stroking her stomach under the furs as his long fingers enticingly splay up to her breasts and down to her pelvis. Sansa soon becomes completely immersed in her beloved, his very essence generating a powerful yearning throughout her body.

Reaching up the sleeves of his robes, she tenderly caresses his bare arms in long even strokes. Feeling his hardened arousal against her backside intensifies her desire for him and a small moan escapes her lips as she feels his hand move lower, his long fingers lightly brushing mere inches from her woman's place. Maneuvering Stranger deeper into the evergreen underbrush, Sandor finds a secluded spot and dismounts, gently lifting Sansa from the saddle. "You'll make a liar out of me at this rate, Little bird," he growls into her ear, pulling her tightly flush against his body and heatedly kissing her. "Gods help me, I burn for you, woman."

"I…I cannot help myself, Sandor, I need you," she gasps in between kisses. "I cannot bear the idea of not being able to have this with you so soon after finding you again. Iit is too painful, my love." Reaching around her waist, he raises her up as he sits back against a log until she straddles his lap. Tentatively she rocks her hips against his manhood while his tongue ardently explores her mouth. Guiding her movements with his hands, Sandor reaches under her skirts and caresses the bare skin of her hips and thighs. She is so beautiful and warm and willing in his arms, Sandor can barely restrain his passion for her. He allows his hands to roam her body freely, reveling in the feel of her soft skin.

Gripping her tightly in his arms, he stills her movements while he buries his face in the crook of her neck, deeply inhaling the scent of her. "Sansa, please love, stay still. I'll spill my seed if we don't stop now," he pants into her ear, his voice thick with need. Pulling away slightly, she sheepishly looks into his eyes, her face flushed with a combination of desire and embarrassment.

"Forgive me Sandor-I am so very wicked I know, teasing you this way. My body craves you in the same way it needs food or water, to the point that my desire completely overwhelms my senses. I have become wanton and I don't know how to control myself with you."

Smiling at her, he caresses her cheek with the back of his hand. "I understand, Little bird, I feel the same way. I should not take such liberties with you when we both are in such a state. We must be very careful-especially around Littlefinger."

Shame clouds her face as she nods in agreement, her eyes downcast. "Sandor, promise me we never have to go through such a separation again. I don't think I could survive it. I would rather die than be parted from you again."

Raising his finger to her lips, he stares into her eyes. "Don't say such things, Little bird. I never want to hear that from your lips again. Our bond is unquestionably the most powerful sensation either of us has ever experienced and gods help me, love, I would no more leave you than I would cut off my own arm. But you must be determined to survive, no matter what happens. Promise me."

Caressing his face, she shyly concurs with a smile. "I promise my love."

Rising, he carefully sets her down. "Alright then, you ready to go?"

A sudden shiver runs through her body before she answers. "Yes, Sandor. Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Grinning, he kisses her one last time before placing her on Stranger's back in front of him and resuming their journey. "You will be safe with me, Little bird, I swear it on the old gods and the new. Have faith in me now, Sansa. I won't fail you a second time, you best believe that."

All too soon, the snow-covered weirwood trees of the ancient godswood come into view. Sansa leans forward a more respectable distance from Sandor in the saddle while he adjusts his hood and cowl securely over his face, careful to conceal his characterizing scars. As they near the path to the grove Petyr Baelish's attendant Rafe rides up with a retinue of men to meet the couple. Visibly startled to see her with a Silent Brother he calls out, "Lady Alayne! Where have you been? We've been all over for you!" Immediately Sandor recognizes the man as Baelish's attendant accompanying Elder Brother to the Eyrie; however Rafe is so focused on Sansa he barely takes notice of him.

Sandor watches as Sansa's face transforms into the unreadable mask of courtesy she wore in King's Landing as the young man approaches. "Ser Rafe-I am ever so glad to see you! Please forgive me-my own foolishness has led to this entire unpleasant situation. Last night I could not sleep with all of the wedding excitement and all so I rose and went out to the godswood to pray. A great blizzard descended and I was hopelessly disoriented in the whiteout. Thank the Seven the Silent Brother here found me just in time! He provided warmth and shelter and he has been so kind to me, I cannot even begin to thank him." Sansa gushes, beaming at Sandor and Rafe by turns.

"Women, eh, Silent Brother? They would get lost in their own kitchen." Rafe chuckles and the other men follow suit. "Good timing your appearance just now-Elder Brother and I arrived only two hours prior. Be assured Lord Baelish will handsomely reward your care of his beloved daughter. Elder Brother is in the godswood overseeing a matter if you would care to join him." Bowing his head to Sansa, he continues, "Lady Alayne, won't you allow me to escort you into the Eyrie?"

Turning in the saddle, Sansa looks at Sandor. "No Ser Rafe, thank you. I would very much like to go to the godswood with the Silent Brother. I must give thanks for my preservation and return to the Eyrie-without the Seven's intervention I am sure I would not have survived such an ordeal." Drawing the reigns, Sandor turns Stranger toward the godswood. Rafe quickly interjects, "My lady that would not be advisable at present. There has been….an accident."

Gasping, for a moment the façade falters and genuine concern seeps into Sansa's mannered voice. "An accident you say? It's not Sweetrobin-"

Holding up his hand, Rafe stops her in mid-sentence. "No my lady, not the boy, thank the gods. It is with great regret I must inform you that it is your betrothed, Harrold Hardyng. I am very sorry Lady Alayne."

Choking out a sob, Sansa pulls out the handkerchief Sandor had given her long ago in King's Landing. Sandor recognizes it as the one he used to wipe the blood from her lip, thus thwarting her attempt on Joffrey's life. Biting the inside of her lip to elicit the desired reaction, tears spring into Sansa's eyes as the taste of blood fills her mouth. "Harrold…when? How could such a thing happen?"

Sandor grunts behind her as he watches her dry the single tear inching down her face. He is somewhat disturbed witnessing his honest Little bird singing a new refrain filled with the honeyed lies Littlefinger taught her to chirp, despite the necessity of her deceptive song.

Carefully concealing her feelings, Sansa averts her eyes under the pretext of sobbing into her handkerchief. In truth, Sansa knows full well Littlefinger is behind Harrold's untimely death. She has suspected he hatched devious plans against the young knight ever since he arrived at the Eyrie. While she made no secret of her indifference toward Harrold, she certainly did not expect him to turn up dead. "Please Ser, I must know."

Glancing quickly at the captain of the guard, Rafe hesitantly complies. "As you know he had been toasting your upcoming nuptials most ardently and sometime after the third phase of the moon he fell down the staircase. The poor young man broke his neck and back; the master assured Lord Baelish his death was instantaneous, if that is any comfort my lady."

"Who found him Ser? Oh, my poor father…" Sansa tisks lightly, shaking her head.

"Ahem, one of the ladies brought in for…entertainment found him."

Sandor coughs behind her, trying to cover up his snort of derision. Sansa exaggeratedly sobs in an effort to disguise his reaction. "Yes, well that is good to know. You have been most comforting, thank you. I will be going into the godswood now to pray with the Silent Brother, Ser Rafe." Sansa's tone brooks no refusal and without waiting for Rafe's reply she nods at Sandor, who turns Stranger once more onto the path to the godswood.

As the couple moves deeper into the weirwood grove, Sansa leans back and whispers to Sandor, "I just knew Petyr had some ulterior motive with Harrold-but I never would have guessed murder! Why would he kill him?"

Placing his lips to her ear, Sandor replies, "With Lord Hardyng out of the way, he can take full control of the Vale. With you as his bride-" Sandor pulls out the wedding announcement from his pack, "it would only be a matter of time before he conquers the north as well. None of the northman will balk at the husband of Lord Eddard Stark's eldest daughter."

Drawing in a sharp breath, Sansa rests her hand on her throat as she reads the invitation. "Gods be good-this cannot be happening!" Paling, she leans against Sandor and stifles the bitter sob rising in her throat.

Reaching around her waist, he presses her against his chest and then delicately turns her loose. "We'll get through this Sansa-Elder brother will help us and by gods I will get you out of here if it is the last thing I do on this miserable fucking earth! I will not fail you again."

It is the second time she has heard him use this phrase and she wonders at his meaning; however there is no time to ask him about it now. As they travel further into the godswood, the weirwood trees enormous branches create a beautiful red canopy overhead. Next to the Heart tree stands Petyr Baelish along with two Stone Crows and a brother of the Seven wearing brown robes similar to Sandor.

The dirt near the warm pool of the hot springs is disturbed and Sansa sees they have exhumed a large pit in the soft earth; inside there is a wooden casket containing the body of Harrold Hardyng awaiting burial. Jumping down out of the saddle, Sansa cautiously approaches Petyr. "Father-I am so glad to see you! I was caught out in the blizzard here in the godswood last night while I prayed for guidance on my upcoming marriage. The Seven heard my cries for help and sent the Silent Brother to my aid; I thought it only appropriate to come and offer thanks. Forgive me for causing you worry-did you come to pray for my safety?"

Narrowing his eyes at her, Petyr studies her a moment before allowing a terse smile to creep across his lips. "No, my dearest-you know I keep no gods, pardon me Elder Brother. There has been a terrible accident-are you not the least bit curious about what we are doing here?"

Bowing her head, Sansa whispers, "Forgive me, Father, but I am not, for Ser Rafe broke the terrible news on our way here. It seems I now have lost a husband and a fiancé in my short life."

Eyeing her suspiciously, Petyr replies, 'Yes, well it may be for the best yet my dear."

Raising her eyes, she asks, "Whatever do you mean Father?"

Chuckling humorlessly, Petyr jerks her by the arm closer. Poised for action, Sandor grips the pommel of his sword and starts to move forward before feeling Elder Brother's hand on his wrist.

Smirking, Petyr holds up the yellow satin bag Sansa made as a memorial for Sandor. "First I have some questions for _you_ , my dear."

Sandor notices the Clegane sigil embroidered on the bag, and, puzzled, he waits to hear Petyr's next words.

Opening the drawstring, Baelish  pulls out Sandor's bloody velvet Kingsguard cloak. "Look at what the men happened to unearth today. Care to offer an explanation, _dearest daughter of mine_?" He hisses through gritted teeth, barely restraining his fury.

Setting her shoulders, it is Sansa's turn to express her anger. "It is a memorial I made to honor the death of a beloved friend. Such is common among worshipers of the old gods and I thought the godswood was most appropriate as a holy place. I certainly had no idea it would be desecrated in such an unexpected manner. My mother taught me to honor my loved ones in such a way."

There is iciness in her words Sandor has only heard once before, when Joffrey taunted her by threatening to bring her Robb's head. "Maybe he will bring me yours," she retorted and Sandor remembers it was all he could do to not cheer her on, hearing the wolf in his little bird at last.

Elder brother gently interjects, "Most interesting, Lady Alayne. I have seen such devotionals all over the north."

Smiling, Sansa turns to Elder Brother. "Yes, though mine is quite modest by northern standards, I nevertheless wanted to honor my friend with a gift of his sigil."

Gripping her arm, Petyr pulls her close, her face mere inches away from his own. " _You_ of all people would lower yourself to call the Hound a _friend_?" He scoffs derisively. Looking around at the men standing around him, he throws down the cloak at her feet. "Elder Brother, what say you to such talk?"

Recognizing the soiled Kingsguard cloak he left in her room the night of the Blackwater Battle, Sandor draws in a deep breath, barely managing to contain the violent surge of emotions in his heart. The very realization his beloved Sansa has cherished the final cloak he left with her breaches the last bitter fortification remaining around Sandor's hardened heart. Choking back his tears, Sandor fiercely struggles to suppress his emotions. Elder Brother glances at him for a moment, and then compassionately squeezes his arm with an understanding nod in his direction.

Sansa senses the surge in Sandor's emotions and her anger breaks forth unabated at last. "Yes Father, _me_ of all people would call the Hound my friend! In fact, he was my only friend. He was protective and tried to help me understand the dangerous position I was in when not another soul even dared help me! No one bothered to notice the goodness within him. All anyone ever focused on was his scarred exterior, Father. I have not forgotten him nor will I ever forget his kindness toward me."

"Alayne, you forget yourself child. Stop this nonsense this very instant!" Petyr growls through gnashed teeth, glancing at Elder Brother out of the corner of his eye.

"No, I most certainly will not. I am not ashamed I made a memorial for Sandor Clegane." Shaking her head, she regards Petyr contemptuously. "You need not look so surprised, that is his name after all. You of all people appreciate how deeply I have grieved for him. I love him, Father, and I always will-and I will never forget all he did for me. So, be angry if you must but I will prepare another memorial for him." Bending down she gathers the sack and cloak laying discarded in the snow, carefully brushing the snow from the material with her fingers.

Seething with rage, Petyr yanks her to her feet. "I will burn those-those loathsome items before I allow you to do such a thing!"

Many years spent in King's Landing has taught Sandor the danger in Sansa provoking Littlefinger. Stepping forward, he longs to intervene but hesitates after Elder Brother silently bids him to refrain.

Sansa turns to Elder Brother, "Forgive me Elder Brother, Silent Brother-it is most unseemly for you to witness such a personal family disagreement. Our religious differences have caused several similar clashes in the past, I regret to admit. Would you please stay and offer prayers with me after I refresh myself? I long to give thanks for my safe return and must offer up prayers for my departed fiancé."

"It would be my pleasure, Lady Alayne. Silent Brother, I will accompany Lady Alayne to her rooms now; please unburden Lord Baelish and take up the spade-a man should not have to bury his own good son."

Without a word Sandor readily begins shoveling the damp earth while watching Sansa slowly move out of his sight. As he continues shoveling dirt over the top of the casket Sandor cannot suppress a wicked grin behind his cowl. In an unexpected turn of fate, Sandor feels it is most appropriate for him to bury Sansa's former intended husband on the very spot in which he plans to marry her. Oblivious to Sandor's dark thoughts, Petyr watches him a moment, then angrily hurries away to his solar.


	12. Elder Brother

Bitter tempestuous winds gust through the footpath of the godswood, rustling the blood-red leaves of the weirwoods, sending a deep shiver through Sansa's body. No longer the dutiful obedient daughter, she clutches Sandor's cape to her chest defiantly in front of all. Petyr stands glaring at her; the Stone Crows remain motionless, bewildered at this sudden turn of events. "Please Father, let there be an end to this-I am unwell and need refreshment." She knows full well there will be serious repercussions for her behavior later but in the moment she cannot bring herself to care and is solely focused on declaring her love for Sandor.

Ignoring the puzzled stares she holds her shoulders high, wearing her love for Sandor proudly in front of all even as her courage and anger begins to wane. Unsure how to carry on, Sansa feels Petyr's piercing wrath scorching her her back as she turns away, his gray-green eyes emanating simmering fury while he watches her take Elder Brother's arm and proceed toward the Eyrie. Though Sandor has vowed to protect her, Petyr is renowned for his ability to exact vengeance and Sansa has witnessed his ire reaching fruition often enough to give her pause.

Sensing Sandor's passionate gaze following her away from the godswood, she focuses on his deep abiding love, spreading warmth throughout her body despite the wintry chill in the air. His surge of emotion threatens to overcome her; she is at once deeply saddened and full of love, aching with longing and on the verge of tears and through the bond they experience an extreme emotional tumult as one in mind and body over the revelation of her memorial for him.

Behind her she hears Littlefinger stomp off and the soft thud of earth falling over the casket soon becomes the only sound in the godswood. Straining to maintain composure she turns her face towards Elder Brother. "What do you think of our godswood, Elder Brother?" she begins, her voice still trembling with weariness and apprehension. "Very beautiful my dear though I suspect it does not get a lot of use." Sansa laughs softly. "In truth, I am the only one worshipping there at present."

Once they are out of the godswood, Elder Brother stops and turns to face her. "There is no need for small talk my child. Please, let me help you." His words are soft and full of caring, touching Sansa deeply as she raises her eyes to his. "I cannot thank you enough for coming, Elder Brother. My situation is most desperate and there is no one I have been able to tell."

"Sandor has informed me of your circumstances; it is obvious you are not safe here. I devoted the time traveling here in prayer and I have confidence it is the will of the Seven that you leave this place. Would you like to be rejoined with Sandor Clegane?" Smiling broadly, relief washes across Sansa's face and happy tears well in her eyes. "Yes, oh yes Elder Brother it is all I have prayed and wished for these past months." Smiling, he takes her hand in his. "Love is a gift from the gods my dear and you and Sandor have a very special union-you owe it to yourself and him to explore this path."

Her face lights up with the first display of genuine happiness Elder Brother witnesses in her; she tightly holds onto him as he leads her inside. Patting her reassuringly he asks, "Do you have any idea what it is that Lord Baelish wants of you?" Lowering her eyes she pauses, almost too ashamed to speak. "I believe he wants my claim to the north as Lord Eddard Stark's daughter. He is very…physically inappropriate with me Elder Brother. I…I fear he killed Harrold Hardyng just so he may claim sole control of the Vale and marry me, assuming he can secure your cooperation. After that it would not be difficult for him take the north and Winterfell, my family's seat."

Pursing his lips, Elder Brother frowns and nods in agreement. "I agree my dear. It seems he strives for Harrold's favor while you are still lawfully wed and at the same time he seeks my permission to dissolve your marriage to Tyrion Lannister. What is more, he already has written to ask me to perform your marriage." Her face visibly paling, Sansa's eyes search his face. "Please Elder Brother-I cannot marry him!" she chokes out before dissolving in tears. "Have faith my child, the Seven sent us to you for a purpose and I will see it through, I promise you that." Pausing to allow Sansa to gather herself, he quietly asks, "What is the state of your union with Lord Tyrion?"

"We were wed forcibly and I was coerced into saying my vows, as was he-he was in love with my handmaiden with whom he lived prior to our marriage and continued visiting…conjugally afterward." Reddening, Sansa stops walking and looks down at her feet, collecting her thoughts. "Lord Tyrion never insisted on his husbandly due and thus we were never joined physically as man and wife."

"You are still a maid and under the threat of violence you were forced to repeat your wedded vows; do I understand you right?" He repeats her revelation incredulously; sadly Sansa nods in reply. "I see." Elder Brother comments, shaking his head. He has heard the Lannisters pay off the High Septon in Baelor handsomely to overlook their indiscretions, not the least of which is the incestuous relationship of the Queen mother with her twin brother, the captain of the Kingsguard.

Tentatively, Sansa resumes her story. "I know it was very wrong of me to go along with it. I have prayed about it daily ever since and have asked forgiveness. With the passage of time I feel certain neither the Seven nor the old gods honor such a union. Do you believe I have the proper understanding, Elder Brother?" Watching him closely, Sansa waits on tenterhooks for his reply. Arriving at her rooms, Elder Brother peers around before whispering his answer next to her ear. "You are a very devoted young woman Sansa, to both the old gods and the new. Your faith in the face of such adversity is most admirable. I am sure your prayers have been answered on the matter or else the gods would not have sent us to assist you. Rest assured that this marriage may be annulled, though typically it would require proof your maidenhead is intact." Elder Brother pauses and glances away from her, giving her time to digest his meaning.

Gasping, she blushes crimson and raises her hand to her throat; she did not anticipate needing an examination by a septa or septon to prove her virginity. "Is there any ahem-reason to doubt your claim…perhaps after spending an emotional night with a man deeply in love with you?" He smiles gently, raising his eyebrow; Sansa cannot help but giggle in spite of her embarrassment. "No, no dear Elder Brother; Sandor has always treated me with honor and continues to do so most consistently. My maidenhead is quite safe, I assure you." Little does he comprehend Sandor is not the one behaving wantonly.

Blushing, Sansa casts her eyes downward, dreamily reflecting back to earlier in the morning. Awakening nude in Sandor's arms, she reveled in the feel of his warm skin against hers and later, sitting on his lap with her arms around him. The whole experience was all so beautiful and exciting; being with him in such an intimate way felt utterly natural and right. Keeping her honor intact had been entirely his idea; left up to her she would have readily given herself to him, no matter the consequences. Clearing her throat, she forces her mind back to the subject at hand.

Elder Brother eyes her closely, suppressing a smile; he understands fully, for once he was deeply in love himself with a maiden very much like Sansa. "Forgive my impudence my dear lady but from my experience I believe you would not blush like sunset at the mention of your beloved unless you were indeed still a maiden." Grinning he squeezes her arm as she nervously laughs, her eyes still downcast with embarrassment. "Will you swear it on the Seven that you are still a maiden, Lady Sansa?" He inquires gravely and Sansa looks intently at him as she gives her reply. "Yes, Elder Brother I swear it on the Seven and on the old gods that I remain a maiden." Leaning closer, he asks, "Will you accept the damnation that awaits you in the afterlife should you choose to be less than honest with a holy brother of the Seven on this matter?" Sincere and definitive Sansa answers, "Yes, Elder Brother I do."

Making the sign of the Seven over her, he smiles and nods. "Very well, let me pray over the matter and I will give my answer soon my dear." Beaming, Sansa spontaneously hugs him close to her. "Oh thank you Elder Brother-thank you so much! Oh, dear-oh, forgive my impertinence." She sheepishly smiles as she turns him loose. Chuckling, he grins at her, "It is nothing my dear-run along and refresh yourself, child. I shall await you in the great hall."

As Elder Brother descends the stairs, Lord Baelish watches from his chaise in the center of the room with Ros reclining by his feet; several of his prostitutes as well as Harrold's remaining soldiers sit in repose around the well-appointed space. "Elder Brother, how do you find my beloved Alayne? Is she quite well after such a trialsome morning?" Observing Petyr thoughtfully, he cocks his head and comes closer to him. "She is quite unwell, I am afraid. Spiritually she is in excellent condition, though physically-well, I believe she would benefit from some of my medicinal herbs. She has obviously been under a tremendous mental and emotional strain for quite some time."

Ros shifts uncomfortably and studies Petyr's reaction; looking over at him he rises and leans against the fireplace, sneering at Elder Brother, barely concealing his derision. Ignoring Lord Baelish's reaction, Elder Brother nods in greetings, then bows at Ros. "My lady, it is my pleasure to meet you." Scoffing, Petyr hands him a glass of wine and smirks at Ros, sarcasm dripping off his tongue. "Lady? Well my dear, there is a first time for everything isn't there?" Ros offers the barest whisper of a smile then turns away, clearly uneasy with the holy man directing his attention to her.

Turning to Elder Brother, Baelish knits his brow and scrutinizes his demeanor guardedly. "My good Elder Brother, if you cannot identify a common whore by sight, perhaps it is time you venture out from the Quiet Isle a bit more often, wouldn't you say?" The soldiers all laugh heartily and Petyr smugly grins at their bawdy response. Elder Brother smiles good-naturedly, trying to disguise his fast growing aggravation with his host. "I would be glad to offer the discreet hospitality of any lady you or the Silent Brother choose-come now, what say you?" Petyr chides, sending his guests into renewed fits of laughter. Their mirth is abruptly interrupted by Sandor entering the room, having finished burying Harrold Hardyng.

"Thank you Lord Baelish for the generous-albeit inappropriate-offer. Silent Brother and I only require warm accommodations and modest sustenance; we would not wish to trouble you." Sandor remains silent, unapologetically exuding simmering fury in the presence of those assembled. Disregarding his demeanor, Elder Brother smiles at Lord Baelish. "Might you show Silent Brother to our quarters Lord Baelish? I do believe he is in need of freshening up before prayers."

Smirking jovially, Petyr gestures toward the winding staircase. "I am afraid my only remaining room is in the private wing reserved for family. It is a bit more lavish, I hope you will find it pleasing despite your austere taste. It is located down the hall from Lady Alayne's room; see that you do not disturb her. Ros, would you show the Silent Brother to his quarters and offer him anything else he may require? There's a dear."

Extending a seductive smile, Ros loops her arm through Sandor's and begins to direct him upstairs. Jerking violently away from her, he casually pushes Ros in front of him, allowing her to lead the way at a more respectful distance, eliciting roars of laughter from Petyr and his guests. "It seems Silent Brother may benefit from our hospitality, too," Baelish laughs, raising his cup to Ros.

Elder Brother watches Sandor thoughtfully and then sharply turns back to his host. "We did not come to you Lord Baelish without invitation nor do we intend on staying solely to serve as the target of your ribald humor. I would request a private audience with you to determine how we may be of assistance to you. We do not wish to trouble you with our unwanted presence any longer than necessary."

"Indeed, Elder Brother. As you may have already noticed I am neither devout nor repentant to the Seven or any other gods. I am in need of your other…shall we say, influences for which you will be handsomely compensated. After your prayers with Lady Alayne I will meet you in my solar before supper-will that suit you?" Baelish tips his head at Elder Brother as he draws nearer. "You may leave your associate to his own devises; I do not include inferiors in my personal matters, I'm sure you understand."

"Certainly Lord Baelish. If you will excuse me I will go to the godswood to meditate. Please see that Lady Alayne is escorted to the Heart tree by Silent Brother." Not awaiting reply, Elder Brother bows and stalks out of the great hall, thus silencing all assembled.

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Slowly ascending the winding staircase, Sandor follows Ros to the third floor of the castle. Never in his life has he been so grateful that conversation is not required of him, for she is the last person he wanted or expected to see in the Eyrie. Sandor does not wish to be reminded of the past and as the Hound he used to buy her fairly regularly in King's Landing. Familiar shame permeated his heart when he glimpsed her in the great hall and he is most eager to be rid of her.

He had never been a man partial to whores-one woman was no different than the next as far as he was concerned and whoever ignored his scars was acceptable for his needs. With Ros it had been different however, primarily because her red hair and fair skin reminded him of Sansa enough that he found her a satisfactory outlet for his ever growing lust. Sandor feels his stomach twist into knot knowing the two women now are under the same roof; his beloved Little Bird, the beautiful highborn maiden for whom he hungers and Ros, the high priced whore he greedily used as a substitute for her.

Out of the corner of her eye Ros glances curiously at the unusually large Silent Brother following her up the stairs. "Are you unable to speak at all or is it by choice?" she asks politely. Met with mute resistance she tries again, unsure how to engage a religious man in conversation. "You are so tall and broad chested you remind me very much of a man I used to entertain back in King's Landing-there's not many in the Seven Kingdoms your size, you know."

Grunting in reply Sandor continues onward, then suddenly distracted he pauses a moment in the passageway, reverently touching the heavily carved oak door in front of him. "Forgive me Silent Brother; this room belongs to Lady Alayne. Your room is down the hall this way," Ros hurriedly clarifies, being made anxious by his uncommunicative, perplexing behavior. Only when Ros gestures for him to follow her does Sandor turn toward his own chambers. Opening the door for him, she pauses to see if he requires anything further. Seeing the tub filled with steaming water, Sandor waves his hand gesturing her to take her leave, then locks the door and begins undressing for his bath.

As much as Sandor would like to take his time and enjoy a nice long soak, he feels compelled to hasten, knowing his Little Bird is waiting for him just a few doors away. Scrubbing himself thoroughly, Sandor then washes his long black hair twice to rid himself of dust from their travels. Quickly changing into clean clothing, he warily opens the door and examines the hallway cautiously before exiting his room. Finding himself alone, he swiftly advances toward Sansa's room.

Much to his surprise she opens the door before he knocks and greets him dressed in a turquoise silk robe, drawing his eyes to her delicate curves. Sansa's face lights up with joy when she sees him, her blue eyes sparkling and reflect the color of her robe. He notices her beautiful red hair is still damp from her bath and shines in the bright light of day. Though they have only been parted for a short time, he is once again taken aback by her beauty and Sandor remains motionless, staring at her with all his might.

Smiling warmly, Sana leads him inside and locks the door before wrapping her arms around his waist, pulling him close; his eyes fall on his cloak and the bag she embroidered for him sitting on her nightstand. "My love, I did not dare hope to see you alone so soon! Are you alright?" she asks, knowing he was deeply moved by her words in the godswood. Removing his holy robes, he nods tersely, still struggling to control the tidal wave of emotions Sansa's grief stricken devotion has awakened in him. "Yes, Little Bird-are you?" he asks softly, scooping her up in his arms and sitting her on his lap.

"Oh yes, I am fine as long as you are near." She blushes shyly and then relates her conversation with Elder Brother in detail while he strokes her hair affectionately. "It seems Elder Brother is inclined to annul your marriage to the Imp," Sandor remarks, gazing at her in wonder; he has lived in darkness so long it is still hard for him to accept beautiful highborn Sansa loves and wishes to be joined to him. "Marry me as soon as it is done Little Bird, swear it," he whispers, staring at her with such intense need it takes Sansa's breath away for a moment.

"Yes, my love I swear it," she breaths against his lips before pressing her mouth to his, passionately kissing him until they are both gasping with desire. Gently moving away from her, he touches the burgundy brocade gown she has draped over the weirwood bedframe. "Time to get dressed and go to the godswood," he says hoarsely, clearing his throat. "Yes, we should speak to Elder Brother together," she agrees, then steps behind the painted changing screen and removes her robe. The light from the fireplace illuminates the outline of her figure; try as he might, Sandor cannot tear his eyes away from her. Sansa holds his gaze while she changes and the look of deep longing in her eyes painfully hardens his manhood with aching need.

When she finishes she steps toward him, the laces of her gown gaping open, exposing her smooth back to him. "Would you please lace me up Sandor? I do not wish to call my maid." Coughing Sandor nods, his throat parched with yearning. Standing behind her, he has a perfect view of her smooth creamy skin and beautiful curves; how he would love to run his hands over her body as he loves her, tastes her, touches her in all the ways he has longed for these many years. Dispelling the lascivious thoughts from his mind, he pulls tightly on the fastenings and after much struggle he eventually manages to secure her gown.

Turning to him, she places her hand on his scarred cheek. "I meant every word I said in the godswood Sandor; I love you and I always will. I can never repay you for all you have done for me." Covering her small hand with his, he presses her hand to his face and raises his arm to her waist, drawing her body tightly against him. "I only want you, Little Bird; you are all I have ever wanted. I want to share my life and my bed with you; I want to be the father of your children. I need you Sansa, more than I ever thought possible and I swear on every god you worship I will kill anyone who tries to come between us."

When he draws her face up to his, Sansa's eyes brim with tears. Softly she kisses both of his cheeks and then his lips lovingly, running her hands through his hair. "Only death can separate us now, Sandor." Chuckling, he says, "I'm not so sure about that." Turning serious, he holds her face in his hands. "If I had known you would take the news of my death so hard Sansa I'd have found a way to let you know I was still alive. I would not have you mourn for me in such a grave manner, forgive me."

Placing her hands over his, Sansa gazes deep into his eyes. "It is the only way I am able to mourn for you my love. After experiencing what it means to lose you I pray my life ends before yours, if only so I will never suffer such agony again-I could not bear it a second time."

Never has anyone expressed such love and devotion to him and once more he finds himself overwhelmed, rendering him momentarily at a loss for words. Sandor chokes back his tears, brushing her cheek lightly with the back of his hand. "Aye my love, I wish the very same. I never want to see you in such a broken state again. You need not worry too much about my death any more Little Bird; Gregor is long dead and I am a hard man to kill."

Laughing in spite of her deeply emotional state, Sansa hugs him close to her body. "We should go now before Petyr becomes suspicious. Will you…come back tonight?" she asks shyly, her voice barely above a whisper. Barking out a harsh laugh, Sandor kisses the top of her head. "My room is only down the hall from you and besides I already told you woman, I'll kill any man that tries to keep me away," he growls into her ear and kissing her neck, the sensation dissolving Sansa into giggles.

Covering his face with his cowl, Sandor peers at his reflection and then at Sansa, who gingerly opens the door and peeks right and left in the hallway. She is glowing and more beautiful than ever, happily smiling at him. The color of the gown brings out the natural red in her hair and Sandor is certain she will have every man in the Eyrie's undivided attention. Satisfied no one is watching, Sandor follows her and offering his arm, he carefully guides her down the winding stairway.

As Sansa makes her way into the great hall, Petyr raises his eyes and watches her intently; she is wearing her hair long in the back and rolled up on the sides, similar to the way her mother always wore it. Taking note of the beautiful gown she has chosen he openly stares, barely bothering to suppress his desire for her. It is all Sandor can do to refrain from slitting his scrawny throat from ear to ear. Sidling up to Sansa, he takes her hand away from Sandor's arm and kisses it, then loops it through his own. "My dear you look lovely. I hope you are not too upset from our disagreement earlier." Demurely gazing up at him through lowered lashes, she shakes her head, "I have prayed privately about the matter. Thank you for your concern, Father."

Raising his eyebrow, he jerks his head at Sandor. "Really dearest daughter, do you think your gown appropriate for the godswood? It really is quite ornate and we would not wish to make our guests uncomfortable with our style of living." Ros darts a surprised look Petyr's direction, then shakes her head and looks away; she too noticed Sansa's gown but would not have risked dishonoring her in front of the others. Glancing around at the soldiers assembled, Sandor cannot repress a snort at Petyr's words; all eyes are on her and he recognizes Baelish is jealously marking her as his own in the presence of so many younger, more handsome admirers.

Running her hands over the bodice self-consciously, Sansa turns to Sandor. "Oh, no-how thoughtless of me! Forgive me Silent Brother; I will change if you wish it." Sighing, he shakes his head emphatically and then steers her closer to the door. "Father, I believe he wants to make haste to the godswood. Would any of our guests care to join us?" Sansa asks, scanning the room and noting the averted eyes and embarrassed grins of Baelish's party members.

Once outside, Sandor lowers the cowl and grins wickedly at her before recovering his face. "Beautiful is an understatement for you, Little Bird." Delighted, she lets out a giggle and squeezes his arm. "I dressed up for you my love, and you alone." As they enter the weirwood grove, he leads her off the path and pulls off his cowl, staring intently into her eyes. "Sansa, I have something to tell you about Baelish's woman, Ros."

"Oh, yes?" she answers, trying to suppress her smile. "See, back in King's Landing…I used to uh, well, buy her." Seeing him so contrite and worried, Sansa is no longer able to hold back; holding her sides she doubles over in laughter, much to Sandor's confusion. "Forgive me my love, I think I understand you. It is no secret that she serviced you; I heard that long ago in Winterfell when you came with King Robert."

Rubbing his hand down his face, he grits his teeth. "Just how the fuck did you hear about that? I'll cut the bastard's tongue out!" Reaching for his hand, she cannot help but resume her merriment at his reaction. "Arya told me, Sandor-she caught you two while she fed her horse. If you did't want to draw attention to yourself you should have taken her in her room rather than the stables like Stranger would."

Frowning at her, he walks a few steps away and mutters, "Hmm, the lot you know about such things-it costs more in her rooms and what I wanted didn't require a bed." Tweaking his cheek affectionately, she smiles up at him brilliantly. "I love you Sandor and I love that you felt the need to tell me. Please do not worry; I know such is the way with men and I have not given it a second thought."

Though embarrassed for possibly the first time in his life, Sandor finds it impossible to remain sober himself; for several minutes their laughter fills the quiet space of the godswood, drawing Elder Brother's attention. "I will meet you two at the Heart tree-we are supposed to be worshipping, after all," he chides them gently, winking at Sandor and then walking back into the godswood.

Taking him by the hand, Sansa nudges him softly. "Let us go pray and then we shall make our plans, my love," she whispers, drawing his hand up to her mouth and kissing it tenderly. Smiling, he kisses hers in return and for the first time, Sandor allows his heart to feel hope for the future.


	13. An Anullment Leads to a Wedding

Blue moonlight glimmers through the beveled windowpanes of Sansa's room. A howling snowstorm descended in the late afternoon, leading Petyr to bring out the Arbor Gold and Dornish red for his guests at a much earlier hour than customary. Her handmaiden lit the fireplace early and a warm glow fills the room; stretching out on the velvet chaise in front of the fire, Sansa tries to still the butterflies in her stomach while she waits for Sandor.

In spite of the ugliness of her quarrel with Petyr, Sansa cannot remember ever feeling as happy as she is today. Snow flurries glittered in the sunlight as it descended onto the godswood, giving the weirwood forest a magical quality as she walked hand and hand with her beloved toward the Heart tree. Sandor had broken character and confided in her about a woman from his past. While she was well aware he is a man with needs, his revelation interfered with her albeit selfish wish to be the first for him as he is for her.

Though she lovingly reassured him it was unnecessary, Sandor had wanted to go into further explanation about Petyr's lady friend Ros. Sansa did not wish to inhibit him but neither did she want him to think she needed details. Elder Brother was waiting patiently, just as eager as the couple to discuss their plans; when he saw they might be in the middle of an important private matter, he hastily retreated back to the Heart tree.

Sansa was well aware men had somewhat mysterious needs the women in their lives often did not understand; she had gathered that much from her mother and her septa. It was widely known that Theon had also made full use of Ros during King Robert's stay as did countless other men in the retinue as well as many among her father's own men.

Even her beloved father had another woman and eventually gave her Jon as a sibling. Sansa smiled to herself as she thought of her brother at the Wall; now that she had lived as a bastard herself she felt she had a better understanding of his life growing up. Should they be reunited, she had much to say to him and much to atone for. Her mother had never treated Jon well and recalling the unhappiness it caused between her parents, Sansa did not wish to impose guilt on Sandor for his dealings as a single man.

Taking her by the hand, Sandor guided her over to a fallen log and bid her to sit beside him. "Sansa, there's more you should know about the woman before we wed." Sighing, he cursed under his breath while she waited for him to speak. Is it possible he had feelings for this woman in the past? By the way Sansa had seen him treat her around King's Landing, she thought it unlikely; still his awkward behavior was beginning to make her uneasy. Wishing he would get to the point, she was also loathe to interrupt him after observing the struggle he was going through giving voice to his feelings.

"I…I was partial to buying her because well, with her fair skin and red hair…" Sandor paused again. "When I was drunk I could pretend she was you, for a few minutes at least." Every word dripped with bitterness and Sandor rubbed his knuckles down the front of his thighs anxiously as he tried to gauge her reaction. "But why Sandor?" Sansa asked; even after all she had endured living with Joffrey, Petyr and Tyrion, there was still so much about men she did not understand.

"Fuck me I don't know," he barked out angrily, abruptly turning away from her. After taking a few deep breaths he wretchedly choked out his feelings. "No that's not true Little Bird; the truth is I...I have loved you ever since I laid eyes on you in Winterfell. I wanted you to notice me-not the Hound. You hardly even looked at me, and when you did it was usually because I was drunk or scaring you, damn it. I wanted you so badly…I-"

Sansa reached for him, stopping Sandor in the middle of his confession. After tenderly kissing his hand several times, she finished his sentence for him. "You took me in the only way you thought you could; the only way you knew how at the time." Hanging his head, shamefully he averted his eyes. "How fucking pathetic does that make me?" he grumbled irritably, folding his arms across his chest.

"You aren't pathetic-you were just sad; I knew you were terribly unhappy and even though you thought I was chirping at you I was trying to show you I cared. I understood how it was to be so unhappy-to feel so unloved and unwanted. Your eyes were always so full of anger. I was afraid for you and regrettably much too young to know how to help you."

He jerked his face up to her. "You don't hold such against me? If you do I wouldn't blame you-think on it now." Shaking her head, she softly caressed his cheek. "No my love; I cherish your love and I will do all I can to make you happy. Let us speak no more of such things, alright? That is all behind us now." Sandor's burned side of his lips twitched into a small smile; he rose and led her toward the Heart tree and Elder Brother.

Catching sight of the couple, Elder Brother waved them over. "Lady Sansa, it does my heart good to see such a dramatic improvement in your countenance. No doubt it must be attributed to your choice of companion," he chided gently, glancing between her and Sandor. "And Sandor, never have I seen such a look of peace in your eyes as I do now." Disposing with the pleasantries, Sandor bluntly approached the matter at hand. "Are you planning on annulling Sansa's fucking joke of a marriage to the Imp? I'll fucking slit his throat if I have to…"

"It is already done. I have spent the time waiting for you in prayer and meditation. I am certain that neither the old gods nor the Seven ever acknowledged her union to Tyrion Lannister-in fact to have consummated such an abomination would have been a greater sin than a divorcing, I can assure you."

Sansa began to laugh incredulously. "Is that all there is to it? Nothing more needs to be done? No…examination will be required?" At hearing her words Sandor gritted his teeth and scowled menacingly. "Examination? What the hell kind of examination, exactly?"

Elder Brother patted Sandor on the shoulder. "She speaks of an examination of her maidenhead, however..." Taken aback, Sandor interjects, "What the fuck kind of nonsense is this? Would her marriage be any less of a fraud had the Imp forced himself on her-isn't rape even considered in such cases by the so-called gods? If I had known that I would have cut off his…"

"Please, let me finish. Yes Sandor, in most cases she would be required to submit to an examination, but not in this particular instance. When I was going through my own training I was informed that the septons of the Vale are well aware of the Lannisters openly flaunting the spiritual laws of the Seven. It was whispered that they even go so far as to bribe the High Septon in Baelor."

Scoffing, Sandor barked out a sharp laugh; that was the worst kept secret in King's Landing. Sansa exchanged glances with him; she also knew this fact all too well. Sandor went on, "Excuse me Elder Brother; we've both seen this first hand. Must be how Gregor literally got away with murder all those years."

Elder Brother affirmed Sandor statement. "Indeed it is, Sandor. Under such circumstances there would be no justice in sending Lady Sansa to them for approval; therefore I will send a raven to the Vale septon and I will personally swear to her maidenhood."

Confused, Sansa clutched her throat. "But dearest Elder Brother…" Placing his hands on her shoulders, Elder Brother spoke definitively. "I will brook no refusals my dear-from either of you. No one need know that I did not examine you personally nor will I offer such information; it will be presumed I have done so as a necessary condition predicating the annulment." Wringing her hands, she looked at Sandor nervously. "But will you not place yourself in danger, Elder Brother? If it should ever be found out…"

Shaking his head he held up his hand to her, silencing her fears. "It shall never be found out my dear-only the three of us and the Seven know of this and I am certain they will bless our endeavors. The annulment is complete; I have presented it before the Seven and I am confident they approve of my decision. Informing the septon of the Vale is only a formality and as soon as we are finished here I will require a raven from Lord Baelish. Never have I been so happy to end a marriage as I am this day; you are free, my dear."

Sansa burst into tears of relief. "Thank the Seven! I will see to it at once," she managed to reply, kissing Sandor and Elder Brother on the cheek by turns. Drawing her into his arms, Sandor held her close, stroking her hair soothingly as he softly uttered, "Thank you." Sansa could feel Sandor was very pleased with Elder Brother's words as he gently brushed the tears from her cheeks, gazing at her with eyes full of love and intense yearning. "When might we marry, Elder Brother?" Sandor asked quietly, still cradling Sansa close to his chest.

All of Sandor's emotions were exposed to her in that moment: fear of losing her and desperate longing, passionate desire and abiding love. The holy man closed his eyes and spent several long moments in silent prayer. The couple anxiously anticipated his answer, clinging to hopefulness and one another as they waited for him to finish. When at long last he raised his eyes to them once more, a broad smile spread across Elder Brother's weathered face.

"You may marry at once, if you so wish. The bond you share has been made by the gods and I am certain uniting the two of you in marriage is the final requirement in this spiritual progression. However I must mention this connection will undoubtedly grow significantly stronger once you are wed. You must prepare yourselves and adjust your behavior accordingly or Lord Baelish will most certainly become suspicious; I would hate to see this entire endeavor all for naught."

Sansa felt Sandor's skepticism spike at the mention of the gods being responsible and yet in an unprecedented move he held his tongue. Turning to Sandor, Elder Brother tactfully continued. "I would only ask after your wedded night Sandor that you would confirm Sansa's maidenhood; are you willing to do this as a sign of good faith for an old friend?"

Confused, Sandor frowned and glanced at Sansa; she realized he may have never been with a maiden and was not properly sure he understood what was being asked of him. Blushing, Sansa whispered in his ear a moment and soon comprehension filled Sandor's keen eyes. "Yes, of course," his tone indicating he did not want this rather personal conversation going any further.

"When would you like me to perform the vows?" Gazing into Sandor's stormy gray eyes Sansa gave her answer in a voice barely above a whisper, "Let it be now Elder Brother, please; I do not wish to spend one more moment of my life separated from Sandor."

They were married on the spot under the Heart tree, next to the deep gray hot springs pool where Sansa suffered the darkest hours of her life, mourning the man now at her side. Holding Sandor's hands she said her wedded vows and with those sacred words Sansa gained everything she had desired; her impossible dream had found a way to become beautiful reality.

Completely absorbed in her beloved, Sansa felt each aspect took on special significance for her: the feel of his callused hands enveloping hers, the deep love emanating from his steel gray eyes reaching into the deepest place in her heart, the rumbling of his deep raspy voice echoing through her body as he repeated his vows all called to mind many moments in their journey together.

After Elder Brother pronounced them husband and wife he offered prayer, making the sign of the Seven over them. "Let nothing separate what the Seven has joined together." With these final words he took leave of them and slowly returned to the castle. Through his words the couple was forever bonded as one in heart, mind and soul. Sansa instantly became aware of it as did Sandor and each recognized the marriage ceremony had completed the union that begun at Lady's death.

Sandor gently held her face in his hands and reverently kissed her mouth. "I am yours, as you are mine, from this day until the end of my days," he whispered to her. Hearing his words filled Sansa's heart; now she felt complete and whole and instantly she sensed a healing taking place in her heart as well as body.

"I am yours, as you are mine, from this day until the end of my days," she whispered back, fervently returning his kiss. After several moments, Sandor muttered, "Well, we've got to get back but for this whole thing goes to hell; Littlefucker is already suspicious and I don't want to provoke him just yet." Nodding, she followed him out of the godswood, where they soon rejoined Elder Brother.

Entering the Eyrie, Elder Brother whispered close to her ear. "Meet me after dinner and I will give you the message for the Vale septon my dear," he smiled at her, then he and Sandor made their way toward the guestroom.

As Sansa was about to go upstairs, Ros called out to her. "My Lady Alayne, perhaps you would like assistance dressing for supper?" Sansa hid her suspicion and recently piqued jealousy with a smile. "Yes, thank you so much." They ascended the staircase in silence, only resuming conversation once inside her room.

"Ros, we have not been introduced; please forgive my familiarity but I am sure you remember me as I remember you. I know you are aware of my true identity; let this be the beginning of honest discourse between us as women, shall we?" Sansa smiled pleasantly, then turned so Ros could unfasten her gown. "I would like that very much Lady Sansa," Ros said softly, watching the young woman in the mirror carefully.

"This is much better, isn't it? Please let us speak freely; what is it you wish to convey?" Ros paused to gather her thoughts. "Lady Sansa, I understand you are unaware Lord Baelish means to marry you himself when he is fully aware you are married to Tyrion. You must be very careful with him; I pray you are ignorant of his more debased means of punishment."

Sansa laid her hand on Ros' arm. "I know full well what you and the other ladies employed suffered at his hand the day Joffrey killed his half-siblings. It was a horrific tragedy; I spent the day in prayer for each of you." Taken aback, Ros blinked at her, clearly surprised. "That is very kind my lady; forgive me but few highborns are so…open minded."

Giggling, Sansa nodded. "That is a most generous understatement. My handmaiden in the royal castle shared your profession and while in King's Landing I learned how wrong it was for me to judge women in difficult circumstances." Biting her lip nervously, Ros slowly assented. "You must be careful; I will try to help, if only because your kindness to Shae is well known amongst the…common folk."

"Thank you Ros; I know your offer comes at great risk." Raising her eyebrow, Ros helps her into a fresh gown. "Indeed. May I ask a personal question?" Shrugging, Sansa agreed, struggling to hide her mounting anxiety. "Petyr has mentioned how you suffered with grief for Sandor Clegane, King Joffrey's personal guard. Doesn't the Silent Brother remind you of him?"

Pausing in feigned thought, Sansa stared off into space a moment for effect. "I cannot say for sure. I tried to avoid looking him in the eyes, his anger always frightened me. He was always very good to me, however and very loyal to Joffrey."

"Yes, that does not surprise me; most of the…ladies were afraid to entertain him as well, though he never hurt any of them. Still, I cannot shake the feeling that the Silent Brother seems familiar, somehow…" Sansa forced her mouth into a taut grin. "Maybe he is a relation; I will inquire for you." Shaking her head, Ros demurred, "No, that won't be necessary."

As they head for her door, Ros stopped her. "Petyr will be speaking to you later. Please be cautious my lady." Squeezing her arm, Sansa gave her a genuine smile. "Your concern is most appreciated Ros; I am glad to have your help. Might I ask a personal favor in a private matter?"

"Of course my lady-what is it?" Smiling shyly, Sansa looked down as she spoke. "My handmaiden is a very sweet innocent girl and is quite in love with the stable hand. I believe she may be in need of some…moon tea. Lord Baelish would punish her severely should she get with child and I do like her so! I would not want this to become common knowledge, you understand-it would ruin her should anyone find out."

Noting Ros' shocked expression, Sansa went on. "You may well wonder how I know of such things but I assure you one cannot live with Tyrion and Petyr and be ignorant to such necessities." Smiling knowingly, Ros patted her arm. "Say no more dear lady Sansa; I will have some sent up at once and rest assured Lord Baelish will never be the wiser; I have plenty to spare." Smiling inwardly, Sansa hugged Ros close to her; now she could enjoy her wedding night without worry. "Oh, thank you for your kindness Ros! I am so happy we had a chance to speak; I hardly ever get to enjoy female conversation." Laughing together, they both descended the stairs and made their way into the dining hall where the men awaited them.

As the long evening drew to a close, she hurriedly sent off the raven with Elder Brother's message and retired to her rooms. Joy and excitement fills Sansa's heart as her wedded night draws near. Now getting up and carefully dressing for bed in her most beautiful gown and robe she wonders eagerly how she will ever endure the remaining hours until Sandor comes to her, when her passionate dreams finally become a reality at last and the joining with Sandor will be complete. 


	14. The Wedding Night

Lord Baelish greeted Sandor and Elder in the great dining hall of the Eyrie; each man astounded by the lavishly prepared table. Everyone but Sansa was already seated and well into their cups before dinner. The evening meal itself was an elegant affair, every detail intended to impress upon Petyr Baelish's guests the vastness of his wealth and they responded with the appropriate enchantment he artfully demanded of them, Sandor noted with derision as he glanced around at the assorted soldiers and prostitutes around him.

Winter rose petals covered the table. Butternut squash soup was served in hollowed out gourds, assorted cheese trays covered with oiled bread, dishes of barley stuffed quails, roasted aurochs in black pepper sauce, garlic mushrooms, fried cornmeal mash, creamed fish, lemoncakes and four kinds of wine and ale were all served at a leisurely pace, extracting the exact amount of praise from Petyr necessitated to stroke his ego.

It was more food than Sandor had seen on one table since serving as Joffrey's body guard; such a feast would feed the entire brotherhood on the Quiet Isle for a day at least and he and Elder Brother exchanged glances, marveling at the waste before them. The entire showy display eroded Sandor's already limited patience and from the look in Elder Brother's eyes he discerned it had a similar disquieting effect upon the holy man.

It was an excruciatingly long meal, which required listening to Littlefinger gloat about his wealth and bait Elder Brother at every opportunity in utter silence, draining Sandor of the last remnants of his self-control toward the insufferable lord. Only the sight of his beloved bride sitting across from him soothed his agitation; looking upon Sansa filled his heart with love for her and a feeling akin to happiness settled over him.

Dressed in a silver trimmed white brocade gown, Sansa looked every bit the blushing bride, her eyes exuding happiness throughout the evening, the very sight of her bringing butterflies to his stomach. Though she deliberately refrained from looking Sandor's direction, she wore a small demure smile on her lips intended only for him, and he took advantage of his placement across from her by unabashedly staring at her throughout the meal behind his hood and cowl.

One glance at her loveliness and Baelish immediately was drawn to her, fawning over her every move and scarcely curbing his ardor, much to the understandable bewilderment of his company. Sandor discovered Elder Brother's words to be true, for his bond with Sansa had exponentially grown in the short time since their wedding, even though as yet they had not consummated the marriage. His desire to protect her threatened to conquer his reason, forcing him to wrestle to control his temper.

Baelish's manhandling of his wife ended when Sandor stunned Petyr by angrily kicked the table, shaking the place settings violently and causing Elder Brother to cough loudly to hide his laughter. Haughtily glaring at him a moment, Petyr turned his attention to his other company, commenting that some of his guests seemed to be not quite house broke; fury rose in Sandor's blood, wishing he could slit the man's throat then and there.

Sansa blushed a charming shade of pink, her smile broadening in response to his outburst but still she abstained from gazing at him, instead asking Elder Brother his opinion of the afterlife, a subject that soon comically quashed the drunken revelry of the other guests. After exhausting the subject Sansa excused herself, declaring a nervous affliction prevented her from further socializing, prompting a low chuckle from her groom, though only Elder Brother was close enough to hear him.

Watching her ascend the stairs, Sandor's heart began to race with excitement; Sansa was everything he had wished for as he recovered on the Quiet Isle and he never expected to make her his wife. Beautiful, sweet and kind Sansa Clegane was now his in the sight of the gods and men. Sandor could not for the life of him understand why the gods had seen fit to give him this second chance and he was determined to do all he can to prove himself deserving of her. Never in all his life had he ever been touched as much as Sansa had over the last day: holding him, running her hands over his scarred flesh, her every kiss and caress, even just the feel of her skin against his own fueled his already powerful desire for her.

Elder Brother's earlier words returned to him now as he watched her small form disappear into the hallway. After they returned from the godswood and Sansa took her leave with Ros, he and Elder Brother conversed shortly with Baelish then proceeded to their own room. Once they had closed the door, the normally reserved gentle man surprised him by his directness. "Sandor, will your wedded night be the first time you have consorted with a maiden?"

Snorting, Sandor muttered under his breath, "Aye, what of it?" Raising his eyebrow, Elder Brother smiled. "Before I became a holy brother I lived a life quite similar to your former existence." Settling back into his chair, he continued. "I believe I told you I loved a maiden very much." Shrugging, Sandor replied, "Yes, you told me that; you never married her though." Clearing his throat, Elder Brother went on. "Yes it is true, I never married her but I treated her as my wife in all respects, Sandor; do we understand each other?"

Grinning, Sandor nodded; he was pleased beyond words to learn Elder Brother once behaved as any other red blooded man. "Well, let me offer a piece of advice; you must treat your bride with patience and care if you want her to share your…enthusiasm for the physical blessings of marriage." Bewildered, Sandor nevertheless longed to be a good husband to her but felt there was never a man more ill equipped to the task than he. Never had he given the women he bought any consideration, physical or otherwise, but Sandor knew he would behave much differently with his beautiful little bird. Softly, after several moments he answered. "Aye, go on then."

Smiling, Elder Brother patted his shoulder. "I only mean you must take your time with her and think of her needs before satisfying your own; if you do so you will see what a happy and spirited woman your wife will blossom into as a result." Laughing low he asked, "Is that what you did with your maiden?" Elder Brother smiled a moment, then his eyes filled with sadness. "Aye, I did; I never told you she ran away with me, left her fortune and standing behind to live with me as husband and wife though we never officially wed. Our time together was cut short; thank the gods with her I knew true love and happiness for an all too brief moment in my life, at least."

Sandor eyed him curiously; he had always feared any happiness he might have with Sansa would abruptly end in some unforeseen manner. "What happened to split the two of you apart, if you don't mind my asking?" Sighing, Elder Brother walked over to the window and looked out into the frozen night. "She was a delicate woman and died in childbed, Sandor; she and our daughter wait for me in the Seven heavens. Heed my words; make sure you and Sansa are safe physically before you start your family. You are a man who spent enough time in houses of ill repute to know of what it is I speak." Nodding, Sandor thanked him and soberly shook his hand and no more was said of the matter.

Once the dishes were cleared, Baelish requested everyone retire to the great hall and excused himself, saying he and Elder Brother needed to converse. Rising to follow, Baelish's page gestured for Sandor to remain seated and Elder Brother politely suggested, "Silent Brother, why don't you take your rest now while I speak with Lord Baelish?" Grunting, Sandor gladly made his way to his rooms, happy for the opportunity to join his little bird at last.

After quickly bathing, Sandor dressed in a simple tunic and pants and carefully brushed his hair over the burned side of his face. Rummaging through his things, he drew out a clean black silk sash embroidered with a yellow panel featuring his sigil; a remnant of his days in King's Landing. Quickly he folded it so the three hounds on the yellow field faced outward; satisfied, he hurriedly tucked it in his robes and made his way to Sansa's room.

As they parted ways before entering the castle she had slipped the only key to her quarters into his hand; after easing it into the lock, he bolted the door behind him, careful not to make a sound. The room was warm and inviting filled with the glow of flickering candlelight and a bright fire roaring in the fireplace.

Asleep in the chaise wearing an intricate ivory lace robe and sleeping gown lays his beautiful bride. Removing his boots and robes, he kneels down beside her, admiring her smooth porcelain skin. Gently he reaches out and strokes the curve of her cheek with the back of his hand; her skin is softer than he remembers and even such an innocent touch stirs him. As much as he wants to take her, he will wait for her to be ready for such affection.

Sandor's embrace awakens her from her nap. Cupping his burned cheek, Sansa smiles coyly at him. "Husband, forgive me; I wanted to properly greet your arrival. I have waited so long for this day my love; it is my dream come true." she sighs, pulling him close to her lips.

His heart sings at her sweet words and Sandor scarcely believes he finally has his beloved all to himself. "Sansa, my beautiful little bird," he murmurs against her mouth, before taking her face in his hands. Lovingly he kisses each side of her cheeks and her temple then ardently claims her mouth once more, feeling her small arms reaching around his neck and back slowly drawing him back onto the chaise with her. His longing heightens with her soft curves pressing against him tightly and all too easily he finds himself carried away.

Hesitatingly she opens her mouth runs her tongue along the inside of his mouth, drawing a low growl from Sandor's throat. Reminding himself to slow down, he eases his hands up her legs, caressing her bare thighs while he kisses her, hearing her to draw in a sharp breath at feeling his hands on an intimate part of her body. Gently pulling back, Sansa stares deep into his eyes and is both startled and aroused by the desperate wistful longing she encounters there. "My love, I have dreamed of you and I together like this, so very many times," she shyly confesses, a pretty blush flooding her cheeks.

Unsure if his young wife is ready to become his in truth or if she is only reflecting his own passion for her, Sandor gazes at her and is happy to discover her eyes reveal a similar amorous yearning. Silently he runs his thumb along her chin and over her lush mouth; her lips parting with desire, she murmurs, "I have awakened with such aching for you." Her words shoot sparks of arousal through Sandor and in the moment he can feel every minute of her hunger for him those long months.

Slowly Sansa runs her fingers through the hair along the neck of his tunic before untying the strings and moving to lift the garment over his head and then removes her robe, leaving no doubt of her willingness. Smiling and staring into his eyes, she tenderly massages his bare chest and back in even strokes, the warm touch of her soft hands sending shivers throughout his body. Sansa unflinchingly looks at him with such unmistakable desire Sandor's heart finally accepts she loves and wants him just as he is; the realization filling him with love for his beautiful bride.

Chuckling at her delicate curiosity, he nibbles on her ear and throat. "I am supposed to undress you, my wanton little bird; but you seem to have beaten me to it." Bashfully giggling she looks away as their shared desire floods her senses. "I…I wish to see you without it my love; I wish to feel your body next to mine," she hoarsely answers, leading him to trail open mouthed kisses further down her neck, the strap of her nightgown slipping off her bare shoulder.

The couple quickly discovers they are able to sense each other's desire in addition to their own, and with each intimate touch and kiss their shared passions dramatically heighten the experience. Overwhelmed by the deep connection, Sansa whispers in his ear, "I…I can feel your desire Sandor in my heart and body both…do you feel mine as well?"

Feeling Sansa's passion in his own body renders him speechless and Sandor finds he can hardly articulate his emotions. "Aye, and it is much more intense than I have ever felt my love," he whispers in return, allowing her gown to fall from her body. Lowering her eyes, Sansa self-consciously blushes deeply under his fiery gaze.

Leisurely Sandor takes in her smooth ivory skin, her lush full breasts tipped in pink, and her sloping curves ending in her woman's place in awe, reverently trailing his large hands over each luscious inch of her, hardly able to believe his beautiful little bird wants this from him, that she is his at last.

In his arms she is so very lovely and supple and yielding; taking pleasure in her with his body as well as his heart ignites his long suppressed lust, his manhood aching painfully with need at the delicious woman lying before him. "My wife, you are even more beautiful than I dreamed," he growls, pulling her against him in a tight embrace.

Breathless, Sansa feels his hardness against her thigh the same as when he held her the day before; moving away slightly this time she reaches down and begins unlacing him. "You wish me to undress you now my husband, I feel it. I have longed to see you thus," she smiles, freeing his manhood and lowering his pants past his thighs, her boldness exciting her husband all the more.

Ever the proper lady, Sandor is amused to find Sansa nevertheless is fascinated by the sight of his arousal. Tentatively tracing her fingers over his swollen member, Sansa subconsciously licks her full lips; the sight of his new wife responding in such a way to his body increases his lust for her. Knowing she has never seen a naked man and is curious, he allows her timid exploration despite his body's powerful reaction, leading him to struggle greatly to control his rapidly increasing need.

Softly wrapping her hands around his member, his sudden surge of desire leaves her breathless; Sansa's lust dampens her thighs as she slowly spreads his wetness over him and continues caressing the supple flesh of his manhood. Delicately placing kisses on his chest and stomach, she hears Sandor moan in response; sensing he wants more Sansa grasps him even harder, the exquisite feeling of her hands on his body begging him to plunge his manhood into her grip.

Overwhelmed with frenzied passion, he is unable to hold back any longer, thrusting himself into her hands and groaning at the sudden rush of pleasure; with his release fast approaching Sandor knows he must calm himself in order to please her first. Quickly stilling her hand with his own, he moves his mouth to her breasts, his tongue eagerly tasting her with a desperate hunger as he slowly moves his fingers between her thighs.

Gasping, Sansa moans in abandon when his fingers deftly massage her woman's place, rubbing her nub in deliciously slow circles; responding to his touch she arches her hips, her arousal fluids soaking his hand as he continues his movements. Slowly dipping two fingers inside of her, her inner muscles tighten around him as he gently presses deeper and feels her maidenhead tearing when he thrusts his fingers in a slow rhythm, his wife moaning and whimpering with every movement.

Her heart racing and her mind reeling with pleasure from his ministrations, Sansa feels herself teetering on the edge of something wonderful she cannot define and within her husband she experiences a potent surge of lust, momentarily robbing her of any sensation except what she receives from his body and touch. Gripping his shoulders tightly, she moans into his mouth, "Oh, Sandor I…I feel so, so…" Pleased with himself, he chuckles low and answers, "You're close to peaking Little Bird I can feel it; just relax and give yourself over to it my love."

Anxious she might have pain losing her maidenhead; Sandor heatedly watches his beloved wife bloom under his touch, her lack of discomfort and obvious excitement only serving to intensify his own brimming desire. Finally he hears his little bird singing the pretty song he wanted from her so long ago under his hands, her fevered response infinitely better than anything he imagined in his heated wine dreams.

Shouting his name, Sansa's muscles grip his fingers tightly, completely succumbing to his touch as her orgasm crashes over her in waves of ecstasy, the intense experience echoing soundly throughout Sandor's body and heart as well, bringing him dangerously near his own release. Tenderly lifting her in his arms, Sandor carries her to the bed, lays her down then resumes trailing his tongue along her body. Sighing contentedly, she tenderly strokes his hair. "Sandor, now let me love you as I have wanted." Rolling him onto his back, his beautiful little bird moves down his body to his scarred thigh and begins tenderly kissing the marred flesh, her hair spilling across waist like a curtain, steadily inching toward his manhood with each kiss.

Panting with anticipation, Sandor realizes Sansa means to taste him; knowing it will be his undoing, he gently stills her movements. "Little Bird, there is nothing I want more but not tonight my love; you are too beautiful, I won't be able to last if you kiss me in such a way." Resting her cheek against his stomach she whispers, "Allow me this, my husband," before licking the head of his member in agonizingly slow circles. Gasping, Sandor rolls over on top of her, pressing himself hard against her woman's place and rubbing his manhood against her slit; feeling her wetness surge over him, he is barely able to restrain himself.

"Sandor, I need you my love: I am ready," she breaths in his ear, shifting her hips to take him inside of her. Needing no further encouragement Sandor ever so slowly guides his manhood into her; the exquisite pleasure the couple feel uniting their bodies transcends the physical. Wrappings her long legs around his waist, Sansa pulls him in even deeper inside of her. Gazing at his lovely wife, he sees her give the slightest wince of pain which quickly gives way to heated passion once more. Sandor increases his movements, making love to her in earnest, reveling in all of his beloved little bird. The feel of his body inside of her, her arms and legs tightly enveloping him, her love and acceptance of him, her devotion and happiness, passion and desire-the entirety of all these sensations completely engulf him, body and soul.

Writhing beneath him, Sansa's body tenses and her inner muscles squeeze his manhood tightly as she bites down on his shoulder, gasping out her second release; the intensity of the sensation sending his body right over the edge, spilling his seed deep inside of her, crushing her against him while he struggles to hold back his cries of pleasure. Clinging to each other, the couple finds a healing in the love and mysterious bond they share, basking in the exquisite pleasure of their lovemaking.

Lying snuggled close in his arms, their breathing slowly returns to normal; Sansa smiles against his neck before kissing him tenderly. "Sandor, my love…this was amazing. I will never love anyone as I love you." Sandor's emotions threaten to overwhelm him, feeling his beloved wife in his arms and hearing her express her love for him touches him deep within his heart, satisfying his long suppressed desire to have someone to love and who would love him in return. "As I love you little bird; I will love you to my dying day; and if there is a bloody afterlife I will love you forever there, too." Sated, the couple drifts off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, luxuriating in the comfort and love they have made, determined to enjoy the remaining precious hours together before dawn.


	15. Conversations

Lord Baelish leads Elder Brother through the winding hallway leading to his solar, pausing to share the origin of several pieces of craftsmanship the holy man admires. His page opened the great oak door and led them inside then proceeded to pour two glasses of Dornish red.

"So what do you think of the magnificent Eyrie, Elder Brother?" Baelish asks, his manners smooth as honey.

"It is both foreboding and very beautiful. It may surprise you to learn I am quite familiar with this area Lord Baelish; I traveled the Vale extensively in my service as a knight."

Turning sharply, Petyr eyes him closely. "I was unaware you ever served as a knight. Indeed I have had the distinct impression there must be a great deal I need to learn about you ever since you arrived."

Stepping closer, Elder Brother closely studies Littlefinger at length. "I find it most unusual that I should have the same feeling about my host. Mayhaps the gods are at work here in the Eyrie after all."

Smiling weakly, Baelish gives him a sideways glance before nodding in assent. "As it pleases you, Elder Brother. Let us speak plainly, for we are both men of action, are we not?"

Regarding his overconfident host carefully, the Elder Brother slowly agrees. "I believe so, Lord Baelish."

The whispers around the castle have piqued the holy man's curiosity about a great deal many things during his short stay.

"You have done much here for your people and I admire your devotion to your departed wife's ill son."

Narrowing his eyes, Baelish gives him a hard look. "Indeed. The dear boy will not linger much longer, I'm afraid."

Shaking his head, the holy man continues, "I am so very sorry. To lose a wife and a child in sudden succession is the worst of tragedies. Perhaps I may look at the boy. I am a learned healer and it would be my pleasure."

Waving his hand, Petyr dismissively replies: "No, dear man, that won't be necessary. I have had the best maesters my coin and influences can procure examine him and I am certain it would do no good at this late stage to prolong his suffering."

Elder Brother, in obvious shock, tries again. "Perhaps I may pray over him then."

Petyr shakes his head. "Whatever the gods may have done, it is too little too late now."

Deeply disturbed, Elder Brother moves on. "Lord Baelish, please free your mind of what troubles you." His patience with the man is wearing thin; despite his vow to help others he wishes he would get on with it.

"Quite simply this, you may or may not be aware that Lady Alayne is not my daughter, nor is that her true identity."

Tilting his chin, Elder Brother shakes his head. "No your page did not inform me of such, though I must say it relieves my mind greatly; after observing your behavior I was concerned there was an unusual arrangement here, one I have only seen among select Free Folk north of the Wall."

"That makes two facts about you of which I was unaware," Baelish softly laughs. "Are you then familiar with the Starks of Winterfell?"

Recalling Sandor's account of Sansa's mother and Lord Baelish's unrequited affection, a certain understanding of the man fills the holy brother. Smiling, Elder Brother nods.

"Oh, yes I was very familiar with Lord Eddard many years hence during Robert's Rebellion. Lord Stark secured the Iron throne for King Robert Baratheon, as I recall."

His eyes seething with jealousy, Petyr begrudgingly agrees. "Yes, well since then the so-called Warden of the North has been exposed for being the traitor he was and executed accordingly."

Baelish's bravado does not impress Elder Brother. He has known many men just like him, though none quite so relentless in the pursuit of power.

Gazing out at the blizzard outside, Elder Brother softly asks: "Lady Alayne is Lord Eddard's eldest daughter, is she not?"

"Did the gods tell you that in some uncanny vision holy brother?"

Laughing, Elder Brother turns toward him once more. "No, ser; I spent enough time in the Riverlands and the Vale to know a Tully when I see one. She has the look of her mother and make no mistake. What do you plan on doing with Lady Stark, or should I say Lady _Lannister_?"

"An excellent question, to be sure. I, good ser, plan on seizing her home seat of Winterfell and keeping it in her stead." Baelish announces haughtily, puffing out his chest, reminding Elder Brother of the pea hens he keeps for fresh eggs at the monastery.

"Seizing Winterfell? As a man not unfamiliar with war I can assure you it will be no easy feat. It would require fighting through Howland Reed and the crannogmen as well as the Boltons and sonce you were once Master of Coin for the Lannisters, it should be particularly challenging for you."

Chuckling knowingly, Petyr pats him on the back. "That, dear Elder Brother is where you and your penitent come in. I know full well no armies or battles can win Winterfell. The northman are known to be brutal, unreasoning men, incapable of comprehending the finer points of conquest. My plan is to secure their loyalty through a deeper, infinitely more enjoyable connection. No Stark bannerman would dare defy the husband of Lord Eddard's eldest daughter. I wish you to free her from her marriage to Tyrion Lannister and perform the ceremony for me. I will pay you handsomely for your…compliance and discretion in the matter.""

"And what of Lady Sansa's brothers? Surely even the Night's Watchman will not stand by and allow you to take their family home. As I understand it Theon Greyjoy has already taken in and the area is now filled with Ironborn. I fear there is much more to this than a simple marriage will conquer." Sharply turning around, Elder Brother barely restrain his revulsion. "Lord Baelish, Lady Sansa's marriage vows were made before the eyes of the gods, both old and new, and between her and her lord husband. It is not for me or you or anyone for that matter to interfere with her choice."

"I see she has already confided in you. Perhaps you do not appreciate the level of depravity she endured from her Lord husband, my dear man." Petyr hisses, his smile stretched tight across his face. "I don't think you fully comprehend what the poor young woman has experienced. She is such a devoted woman that I'm sure you would agree she deserves mercy."

"She confided her worries about the situation in the north and mentioned she had brothers, one of which serves on the wall; however she did not specifically mention Lord Eddard. In any event it is well known that her husband was unfaithful even to the young lady herself and yet she has decided not to pursue terminating the union. Why do you suppose that is?" Elder Brother counters, carefully concealing his derision.

Incensed, the lord and the holy man regard each other for several long moments before Baelish breaks the silence.

"Knowledge is power, my dear man. I never ask favors from those I know nothing about; do as you're bid and we will leave it at that, do I make myself clear?"

Shaking his head, Elder Brother tilts his head, his anger turning to pity in an instant. "Lord Baelish, I have made my peace with the Seven; my wife and child await me in the Seven heavens. There is nothing in this world that has a hold on me, least of all you. However, I will speak to Lady Sansa in private on the matter and then we shall see what transpires afterward."

If it wasn't for Baelish's dangerous air, Elder Brother would laugh at the irony that while they are scheming about Sansa's future, she is enjoying her wedding night with her new husband.

Lord Baelish's satisfied sneer changes into a seldom seen expression Elder Brother recognizes from his days in battle; it is the look soldiers often wore in abject fear when faced with the rare man that has nothing to lose, the man for whom death holds no dread.

During the long sleepless nights he tended the Hound's wounds he felt the battered man's survival must have often depended on using such tactics and felt inexplicable kinship with helpless injured man before him.

Undergoing the same struggles and using similar means of survival had been a common thread between them, and each man took their respective turn fearfully looking the Stranger in the face on the banks of the Trident. _A man like Baelish could never understand men like Sandor and myself and never would,_ Elder Brother muses.

Fearfully Baelish gazes at Elder Brother, wholly unnerved by the utter failure of his threat. Quietly Petyr absorbs his calm yet powerful words, then finally settles into cautious optimism.

"Yes…after considering it I believe this will be the best course after all. Very wise indeed Elder Brother." Gulping his glass of wine, Petyr waits for his reply.

"As you wish my Lord," the holy man bows. After bidding him goodnight Elder Brother takes his leave, relieved to be rid of the egotistical man.

As he makes his way through the huge castle, the holy man falls into meditative prayer. Silently he thanks the Crone for the wisdom in handling Lord Baelish and the Father for good judgment. To the Maid he prays for protection and blessings for the newly wedded couple, and lastly to the Warrior that he would give Sandor the victory in any future conflict while enabling him to maintain the progress he has made.

Passing Sansa's room brings a sentimental smile to his face, remembering his own first night with his beloved lady. It did his heart good to see such love come into Sandor's life, for in his mind there was never a man in the seven kingdoms who needed it more. Sansa's love saved him once and now his love for her has brought Sandor here to save her in return, Elder Brother thinks with a smile, chiding himself for his 

* * *

A blast of glacial air rattles the shutters while frozen sleet hammers against the windowpanes of Sansa's room, the din rousing the couple sometime after the second phase of the moon. Feeling Sandor's arms cradling her securely, Sansa can scarcely believe he is here with her, in her bed, holding her close after the many times she awakened to find herself alone and despondent.

Smiling happily, she rests her chin on the crown of Sandor's head, running her fingers through his long black hair. He responds by tightening his embrace and snuggling down closer between her breasts.

"Little Bird," he murmurs sleepily, his warm breath against her skin eliciting sweet shivers through her body. "Gods you're cold woman," he chuckles. Rolling onto his back, he carefully moves her with him, until she is snuggled down next to his warm muscular chest with his arms wrapped around her.

"Much better, my love," she smiles against his skin, the black hair on his chest tickling her cheek; she feels his laughter rumble deep in his body.

"You got some weather up here in the Vale. Should we make for somewhere warmer?"

Stroking his chest, she shakes her head. "No I like the snow; North, maybe Sandor?"

Sighing, he nods. "Aye, love, we'll go north. I should have known you'd want to stay in the more wintry part of Westeros. I hope you bloody well know it's too bleeding cold for a Westerman though," he grumbles and she smiles feeling his teasing mood.

"I'll keep you warm," she giggles, snuggling against him.

"You feel alright, Little Bird?" he asks softly with a hint of worry; he knew he was carried away with her and afraid he hurt her.

"I am more than fine, love; I am happy and contented at last," she answers, kissing his chest tenderly. Ever so lightly she runs her fingers down to his stomach and feels his arousal surge once more.

"Careful wife," Sandor grumbles low. "Or I may just take you again; there's plenty of night ahead of us."

"Must this only happen at night, husband?" she giggles and begins kissing the trail of hair down to his waist, causing him to bark out a harsh laugh.

"Looks like a few hours of marriage to your scarred dog already corrupted your prim highborn ways Lady Sansa. Seven Hells, what would your septa say?"

"Do you disapprove my lord?" Sansa's eyes glitter with amusement.

Turning her attention back to his body, she delicately traces her fingers over his manhood, fascinated by the effect her touch has on him. Delicately she leans down and kisses his member tentatively.

Growling, he scoops her up in his arms and raises himself up in a sitting position against the bed frame with Sansa in his lap.

"You asked for it, wife," he whispers in her ear, kissing her neck as she faces him then wraps her legs around his waist. "Seven Hells when you do that I can hardly control myself. I'll fucking kill the man that suggested such to you."

Covering his mouth with her lips, she swirls her tongue over his own, eliciting a deep groan from her husband.

"Do not be jealous my love; my friend Randa told me men very much enjoy such intimate kisses."

Kissing down her shoulder he hoarsely rasps against her skin, "Did she now?" Nodding, Sansa innocently smiles.

"Oh yes; she even demonstrated on a wine bottle for the kitchen maids, and-"

Doubling over her shoulder, Sandor buries his face in her hair and holds her against him while he laughs long and hard, his shoulders shaking violently in his merriment.

"Oh, bugger me little bird! I would've paid a gold dragon to see that."

"Did I do it wrong or…did you like it?" Sandor does not want to mock her innocent desire to please him; no woman has ever shown him such trust and willingness and he would not spoil her newfound openness with him.

"More than you can imagine," he moans against her mouth, placing his hands under her hips and lifting her thighs over his manhood. "We have plenty of time for such ahead of us, love. I want you to learn what you like first."

"You may think me wanton but I do like it, very much," she scandalously whispers while blushing deeply, causing Sandor to rasp out another sharp surprised laugh.

"Little bird, be as wanton as you wish in our bed," he sighs as she gingerly moves over him, gripping his shoulders and tentatively lowering her hips over him. "It will hurt more this way wife," he warns, trembling with desire.

"That may be but I wish to look into your eyes as I love you." Sansa whispers in his ear, her cheeks ablaze. Settling over his manhood she finally completely sheathes him inside her.

Holding her close to his chest, he rasps, "Are you in pain, little bird?"

"Just a little sore," she mutters, wincing as she adjusts herself.

"You don't have to do it this way," he reassured her.

"But I want to my love; I would look upon your face so that you may see how deeply I love you." Swallowing hard, her words touch his very soul, for he has never known love or affection until his lovely little bird.

Rubbing his hands over her back tenderly, he chokingly whispers, "Aye I would like that very much. Take it slow love."

Sandor soothingly runs his hands over her sides and down to her hips, then gently begins guiding her movements. Sansa follows his lead, tentatively rocking her hips over him as her own pleasure builds.

Fighting to control his passion, Sandor grips her tightly while urging her on, thrusting his own hips in time with her movements. Sansa tightens her arms around him, pressing her body flush against his chest, her thrusts becoming erratic as their lovemaking reaches a culmination of pleasure.

Her release brings uninhibited cries of pleasure from her throat.

"Shhh little bird," Sandor whispers against her lips, chuckling low. "We must stay quiet. I thought I'd be the one having trouble."

Smiling into his kiss, she answers, "You make me lose myself, love. I cannot help it, try as I might."

Her passionate confession sends a surge of lust pulsing through his body and Sandor clings to her, his hands digging into the tender flesh of her thighs.

"My sweet Little bird hold nothing back, you won't hurt me," he grunts breathlessly as she starts moving over him at a frenzied pace, her body quickly sending him into his own release. Sansa soon finds her release for the second time, surprising both herself and Sandor.

Living with his scars his entire life, Sandor had long forgotten what it felt like to have a woman smile at him, if he ever knew it to begin with. His wife is the most beautiful woman he has ever known and during their lovemaking she gazes into eyes with love and passion, fulfilling a need he did not realize existed within him.

With her love his beloved little bird has managed to break down the last of his defenses and tears slowly fall from his eyes, releasing the pent-up agony he has suffered his entire life. Resting his head against her forehead, Sandor is engulfed with emotion as they cling to each other.

Sansa's desire to please him and tender lovemaking overwhelm his heart with so many new and deep feelings he wonders how he ever lived without her touch, without her love.

Sensing his tumultuous frame of mind, Sansa places her hands on his face and lifts her lips to his, slowly kisses his mouth then moves to his cheeks, tenderly kissing his tears away. Softly she repeats her vow to him, hoping he will feel the depth of her commitment in his heart.

"Sandor I love you. I am yours as you are mine."

Embarassed he slowly nods and clears his throat. "I don't know what in buggering hells has come over me. This...connection is so intense I can hardly contain myself."

Smiling, she tilts his face up to hers. "You must hold nothing back with me Sandor, I love you."

Drawing her close to his chest, he lays his cheek on her shoulder, burying his face in her hair.

While stroking her back his fingers meet with long raised stripes of thickened flesh crisscrossing her small frame. In one move Sandor gently lifts her in his arms and turns her back to the firelight and carefully examines her scarred flesh.

At first confused, then Sansa realizes what has caught his attention when she hears him swearing low as he traces the length of the marks with his index finger. Shame burns through Sansa as she meekly submits to his inspection.

"Shae used an ointment from Maester Pycelle but I don't think it helped much. I know it looks ba-"

Sandor abruptly cuts her off, black rage flooding through his mind and body.

"Seven Hells Sansa, where did you get such scars? Answer me…was it Littlefinger?" he rasps out, fury transforming his voice into the familiar timbre of the Hound she so often heard in King's Landing.

Sadly she stammers, "No...no love, not him. You were there when it happened; have you forgotten?" she whispers.

His mind racing, Sandor quickly thinks back to his days with her in the royal court. "Was it the day of the riots? I don't remember any of those half-starved bastards having any kind of weapon that would make those marks."

Slowly Sansa shakes her head, "No love it was Ser Meryn's sword, the day Joffrey beat me to answer for Robb's victory."

"Bugger me," he mutters under his breath; he will never forget that day as long as he lives. His inability to protect her has haunted him ever since that day.

Sitting down beside her on the bed, Sandor takes her into his arms and sits her on his lap.

"Sansa, I swear to every single one of the gods and on our marriage that will never happen again as long as I draw breath. I will kill anyone that raises a hand to you in the worst possible way, you best believe that. You will always be safe my love, I promise you."

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she hugs him close. "I know, my love...I have always felt safe with you."

Getting up he searches through his robes and retrieves the sash with his sigil while she pulls his tunic over her head and adds more wood to the fire. Sandor quickly grabs her and abruptly pulls her away from the fireplace.

Startled, she looks up at him then grasps he is afraid she will be burned. "It's alright my love, I'm always very careful-you need not worry." Sansa whispers, patting his hand.

Swallowing hard he only nods, then turns and fumbles with the sash out of her line of sight.

Noticing he is hiding something, her eyes light up with curiosity.

"Come here Little bird," he motions for her to sit on the bed. Kneeling beside her, Sandor offers his gift anxiously, hoping she will like it. Remembering the elegant ring Joffrey had given her, Sandor regrets he has so little to offer. "I don't have any proper ring for my bride but I do have this, if you would wear it."

Gasping, she giggles excitedly and reverently runs her fingers over the material. "It is so beautiful!" she squeals happily, throwing her arms around his neck and covering his mouth in a long hungry kiss. "Sandor, I love it. I will wear it proudly my husband." She declares, settling him back onto the bed.

"Keep it concealed until we are safe, Sansa." Sandor's face twitches into a smile, pleased she is so happy with his modest offering.

"As you wish. I will wear it under my clothes next to my heart. It will be our secret." Running her fingers over his chest, she suggestively whispers in his ear: "There's still plenty of night ahead of us an altogetherly irrisistable man said to me earlier."

Scoffing, he nevertheless pulls the tunic off of her and covers her with furs, snuggling her close in his arms.

And so the wedded night continues for the happy newly married couple, alternating between sleep and lovemaking, fully indulging in passionately expressing their long suppressed love for one another until the early light of dawn creeps through Sansa's shuttered windows.

Sandor reverently caresses her skin and deeply inhales her sweet scent, desperately trying to capture the very essence of his bride and their sacred connection in his heart and mind, for he knows not how long it may be before they come together again in such a manner.

"I love you little bird, more than I ever thought possible," he whispers into her hair. "But I must leave you now."

Nodding sadly, she holds his face in her hands and gives him a final long slow kiss, parting her lips and caressing his tongue with her own.

"As I love you, husband. Come to me as soon as you can my love-I will ache for you. Thank you for such a beautiful night."

Sansa is lovely and warm and beautiful and her words so heartfelt that it takes his breath away. Sandor can barely manage to tear himself away from her; if he could he would stay with her in this way for a week or more.

Hurriedly he throws on his clothes and robes, then kisses her once more before leaving her, not daring to look back at her.

Rolling over onto the side of the bed Sandor had slept, Sansa closes her eyes, reveling in his scent and the warmth lingering on the covers. Watching the light move in through the slats of the shutters, this is the first time since reaching the Eeyrie that she has not dreaded facing another day. She is now Sansa Clegane and her heart is filled with hope, knowing she will never be parted from Sandor again.


	16. A Plan for Escape

Hiding in the shadows of the hallway, Sandor warily watches Lord Baelish's guards walk past the alcove, completely unaware the dangerous man is merely a few feet away from them. Scanning the area after they disappear from sight, Sandor quickly hurries toward his room.

"Congratulations Sandor…did you have a pleasant wedded night?" Elder Brother asks, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Aye, it was indeed," Sandor mutters low. "That's all I'll say on the matter, so you best just stop right there." Laughing, Elder Brother motions for him to sit beside him. "You should know me better than to think I would ask such personal questions. It does my heart good to see the change the love of that lass has brought in you. With such degradation surrounding us I had all but given up on seeing a love like yours again, once my lady passed on." Smiling, Sandor nods in assent. "It is hard to explain the effect of our connection. It so powerful I can hardly control my emotions, damn me."

"The gods do not mean for you to hide your emotions from your love, Sandor, remember that. It is the deceit of man that teaches us to behave in that manner." Shrugging, Sandor asks, "How much closer can two people get? When will this bond finish deepening? As much as I love her it is very difficult to deal with."

Elder Brother pats his shoulder. "When your love has realized the reason the gods saw fit to originate the bond between you in the first place Sandor. Once the will of the gods is accomplished the bond will keep the two of you permanently joined the rest of your lives but it may not be quite as intense and consuming as you are experiencing now. Perhaps the bond is to protect Lady Sansa, not just the general way common between spouses, but specifically from one individual or group. Lord Baelish may well be part of it which is why you both are so overcome by the effects of your connection here in the Eyrie."

"Yes, that seems about right. Whenever he is near her or she is afraid of him, I can barely contain this fury that rushes through me; it is all I can do not to kill him with my bare hands, the buggering fool," Sandor growls, clenching his fists at the mere mention of Lord Baelish.

"It would serve you both to meditate on what is to be done Sandor-either in the godswood or wherever you find peace here, although I am not sure you will have clarity with your beloved bride close to you." Elder Brother grins and Sandor barks out a harsh laugh. "Aye, I understand you old man." Chuckling, Elder Brother moves toward the door. "Try to get some rest Sandor and see if you do not find answers to your dilemma. I will return after a while so that we may go down to break our fast together."

Clearing his throat, Sandor stands and shakes his hand, surprising the holy man. "Thank you Elder Brother…for everything." Slapping him on the back, Elder Brother shakes his head. "Thank the gods Sandor. All that you have now and all you have achieved with your beloved Sansa-this was within you all along. You were meant for this Sandor, you must believe that and that is why the gods saw fit to spare your life."

Lying back on the crisp sheets, Sandor closes his eyes and thinks of his beautiful little bird as she was when he left her, snuggled down on his pillow, her red hair spread about her. He can still smell her lavender scent on his tunic and his heart overflows with love for her, giving him a deep sense of satisfaction and fulfillment such as he has never experienced before in his life. As he daydreams of her he falls into a deep sleep, and when he awakens Sandor is astounded to find he now knows exactly what must be done to save his beloved wife.

/

Bright sunlight sparkles through the beveled windowpanes, rousing Sansa from sleep in the late morning. Her maid softly taps on the door as she enters her bedchamber. "My lady, are you up? I have your breakfast here from Lord Baelish." Sighing, Sansa rolls over. "Yes thank you. Please set it on the table and have hot water ready for my bath." Curtseying, the maid smiles, "As you wish my lady."

Sansa slowly slides out from under the covers, and finds she is a bit sore after her wedded night, the dull ache from her thighs bring a sly smile to her face. As the maid starts to leave, she glances over at her mistress' bed linen. "My lady-no wonder you seem so stiff this morning, it seems your moonblood came last night. Let me hasten with the bath. I'll bring fresh linens at once."

Smiling, Sansa nods as she wraps herself in a sheet and then a luxurious fur Sandor had given her at the cabin. "That is very kind. I would also require hot water for tea. Silent Brother gave me some herbs for my upset stomach." She does not need to know it is for moon tea, she giggles to herself when the maid's back is turned.

"Did Lord Baelish give his approval for you to use this medicine my lady?" she asks guardedly. "No, nor do I require his permission. I am a woman grown and your Lord's daughter. I do not answer the servant's impertinent questions and I shall require no further assistance from you." Sansa answers icily, affecting a tone she often heard Cersei use when she expected unquestioning obedience. "Of course not; my apologies my lady…I will send in another," the maid stammers and scurries off while Sansa hurries to bar the lock.

I would not be surprised if Petyr has them spying on my every move, she thinks bitterly as she stares into the mirror. Though she does not look so very different, Sansa feels like an entirely new woman now that she is wed to Sandor. Pondering the sudden change mystifies her especially when she considers the bond has markedly increased between them. Sansa must admit she feels it much more strongly and of one thing she is certain: where she once was afraid, now she feels resilient and strong. It has to be the bond just as Sandor said, she thinks while checking over her skin for any indications that would reveal their lovemaking. My feelings and his have begun to mirror each other-but what purpose does that serve?

Sandor had been careful and there are no love marks, and she is unexpectedly disappointed there is no physical reminder of their beautiful night together. Peace now envelopes her hear and she wonders if he feels different too. Her thoughts of him send a pleasant rush of warmth throughout her body as she huddles down in the fur.

A soft knock at the door snaps her out of her thoughts. Pulling on her robe and wrapping the sash tightly, she opens the door expecting another maid; instead in strides Lord Baelish, his eyes sweeping over her heatedly as snakes his arm around her waist. "I was vexed when you did not join us for breakfast Sweetling; Elder Brother especially inquired after you. It was most impolite to stay up here at your leisure considering we have important guests with us."

Wriggling away from his grip, Sansa tightens her sash and forces a taut smile. "I did not sleep well last night and am very tired this morning." Stepping closer, Petyr tips her chin up to him and inspects her face closely. "You are flushed my dear. You have dark circles under your eyes also. Would you like me to call the Maester?"

Turning her back to him, she busies herself concealing her sheets. "No, it is only that my red flower is upon me. I would like to have Elder Brother and Silent Brother sent to me after I bathe and dress. They are learned healers Father, most learned indeed-the tea Silent Brother gave me is very helpful. You might consider asking them to look at Sweetrobin while they are with us."

Feeling his eyes upon her, she senses Petyr is studying her closely for deception and it reminds her of the way Cersei's tabby cat watched the caged birds in court. Now I know how those poor birds felt, she thinks, affecting her best blank expression and smiling sweetly at him. Smirking, Baelish pinches her chin painfully, "I received a most interesting piece of news this morning Sweetling from the Vale septon. It seems your marriage to Tyrion has been dissolved."

Unshakable, Sansa moves away from him abruptly and begins brushing out her hair waist length hair, pretending to ignore his penetrating gaze. "Oh, yes? I thought it would take it bit more time to settle such matters with the brothers in the Vale. I am happy to be wrong."

Squinting at her, Petyr hisses, "You don't seem very surprised I must say, Sansa. Is there something you would like to share with me?" Baelish's voice is thick with rage and his presence gives a dangerous aura Sansa can feel within her heart. Grabbing her by the arm, he jerks her toward him, bringing her mere inches from his face. "Answer me, girl-what have you done? Don't toy with me either, it won't work. I have forced the truth out of girls much more clever than yourself."

"Lord Baelish, I am surprised you are reacting in this manner. I was certain you would ask Elder Brother yourself for the annulment after dinner-is that not why we were treated to such an exquisite meal last night? Your so-called ladies hardly warrant such decadent fare as inducement to do your bidding," Sansa replies, sarcasm seeping into her tone.

"Gods be damned this is no game, child! The future of the north depends upon you and me playing our roles to the letter. As Catelyn's daughter you cannot be so stupid as to think otherwise, unless you take after Ned. Dear old dead Ned, well you see where his foolishness landed him. Distrusting me was the wisest thing he ever did. Now tell me the meaning of this," he demands, throwing down the message roll.

Hearing him speak her father's name brings the wolf to life in Sansa. " How dare you talk to me about my own flesh and blood! You are not fit to even speak his name aloud. I have always suspected you were responsible for his arrest. The north-what do you care for the north if you would help our enemies capture the Lord Protector? You care only for my mother-"

Squeezing her face in his hand, Petyr grits his teeth and hisses low,"Careful Sweetling, remember where you are and with whom you reside. One unfortunate indiscretion could very well land you in one of my less reputable establishments in King's Landing-or Flea Bottom, for that matter." Gasping, Sansa tries to pull away; Petyr only tightens his grip on her jaw. "Your natural red hair," he stops and casts his gaze to her waist, "would fetch quite the exorbitant fee indeed, even once you were spoiled," he seethes, his tone menacing in her ear.

His hot breath sends shudders of fear through her yet her anger proves stronger still. "If you would dare threaten me in such a way I fail to see why I should tell you." Tightening his hold on her arm, his fingers dig into her flesh until Sansa yelps in pain and shakily tries freeing herself from his grip. "I discussed this with Elder Brother yesterday and sent off the raven myself. As a true born daughter of House Stark I handled my own affairs and I do not need your permission to do so. The matter is settled, just as you wished. You have no cause to behave like this toward me."

Her voice is strong even in her own ears but the murderous glint in his eyes brings a sharp stab of panic searing through Sansa's heart. Suddenly her mind is transported back in the throne room of the Eyrie the day Petyr kissed her. Watching the scene unfold, she sees her Aunt Lysa's face twist in horror as Petyr wrenches her away and throws her to her death. Recognizing he is wearing the same look now, Sansa knows she must calm down and contain her wrath if she is to survive though her fury makes proceeding with discretion difficult at best. "What is the matter with you? My mother would not approve of you handling me like this-turn loose!"

They are interrupted by a furtive knock on the door. Abruptly Petyr jerks the door open to find Elder Brother and Sandor standing in the hallway, his hand still tightly digging into her skin. "We are having a disagreement if you don't mind. It seems you men have a talent for intruding in our private matters," Petyr grumbles irritably. Sandor insolently moves forward into the room, placing himself between his wife and Baelish. Deep gray eyes meet hers and at once the agitated girl senses his reassurance-and his wrath.

"Yes I can see that you would think such, if this is the way you commonly interact with Lady Sansa. If this is anything resembling the row in the godswood yesterday I fear we are needed more than you may realize," Elder Brother replies gravely as he follows Sandor inside. "The young lady is not suitably dressed; let us retire to the study until she is made presentable. I will leave Silent Brother here to escort her to us once she is ready, what say you?" Elder Brother smiles genially. Glaring at Sansa, Petyr reluctantly assents. "Let us go before I genuinely lose my temper, Elder Brother."

Grunting, Sandor steps aside, allowing the men to pass; his intimidating stance not unnoticed by his host as Petyr brushes past. "A wise choice," Elder Brother comments, casting a subtle glance over his shoulder at Sandor and Sansa. "Silent Brother, please attend the Lady Sansa as soon as she is suitable dressed and provide her with whatever she may require-there's a good man."

At that moment he new maid enters the chambers with three young men carrying water. Looking around, she then bows before softly saying, "Forgive the intrusion my lady. I can return later if you wish." Sandor's heated gaze burns into her as she reluctantly turns away from him and briefly glimpses toward the maid, smiling pleasantly. "It is no intrusion; please fill the tub and go my dear. I will require a change of bed linens once I am done, thank you." Sansa replies, never fully taking her eyes off of Sandor.

"Will you need an escort, my lady?" she offers quietly. "No, the Silent Brother will take me to father when I am finished here. That is all." The servants hasten to prepare the bath and set the tea service and then quickly withdraw from the room, never raising their eyes to the daunting Brother of the Seven standing watch over the proceedings.

As soon as the door closes, Sansa hurriedly bolts it shut. Pulling off his robes, Sandor gathers her into his arms, lifting up her sleeve to examine her arm. "Did that bastard hurt you? I felt your fear little bird; it cut like a knife through my chest. Elder Brother had to damn near knock me out to keep me from ripping your fucking door off its hinges."

"Forgive me love. I do not wish to cause you suffering. Petyr is very angry that I sent the raven and dissolved my marriage without his knowledge. He has threatened to send me to the houses of ill repute in King's Landing and Flea Bottom if I do not cooperate with him." Grunting, Sandor gently runs his large fingers over her arm, now turning bruising purple in the shape of Petyr's fingers marking her skin. "Bugger that little bird. If he thinks he can get away with it just let him try-I'll gladly cut his throat for it."

"I…I've never seen him like this Sandor, I fear it will get worse, too. We are not safe here." Nodding, Sandor rubs salve on her bruise. "Wait until he realizes you entered another marriage. I'll cut that buggering bastards balls off for this," he growls before tenderly kissing the area, his warm breath sending shivers of pleasure up her spine. "Did he hit you?" he growls, turning her chin and lightly running his finger along her jawline.

"No, my love-I am certain you would have felt it if he had; he only pinched me hard. We must leave soon Sandor, or I..I may not be able to survive him." Sandor grits his teeth and sets her down on his lap facing him. "I swore I will keep you safe Sansa if it is the last thing I do. He will not hurt you and if he tries I'll kill him with my bare hands, gods be damned. I have an idea to get you out of here and take care of the so-called Lord Protector of the Vale once and for all."

"Shh I know love, I trust you, you must believe me," she whispers against his mouth, kissing him slow and deep. Sandor cannot resist the amount of temptation she presents and begins heatedly kissing down her throat to the edge of her robe, then eagerly casts the garment aside and steps away from her. He allows his eyes to roam over her, taking a moment to admire her beautiful form before claiming her mouth once more.

Sitting on the bed, Sandor moves her so she is standing between his legs and begins caressing her soft skin. "So beautiful," he murmurs against her skin, resting his face between her breasts; Sansa pulls him even closer, running her hands through his hair and inhaling his masculine scent. Caressing under her bottom, he slips his fingers in between her thighs and feels Sansa tense up while letting out a sharp hiss of pain. "Are you tender this morning my beautiful little bird?" he whispers against her stomach, kissing his way down her body.

"Yes, just a bit. I…I think you must be made larger than most men in all areas, Sandor," she shyly whispers into the crown of his head. Chuckling, he continues kissing her. "Aye, so I've been told a time or two. Forgive me my love." Bringing her knees up on his thighs, he continues placing his kisses along her body, finally settling between her legs.

Sansa giggles self-consciously as she feels him nuzzle between her legs, her laughter quickly dissolving into moans of pleasure when he begins running his tongue over her folds. "Tell me where it hurts, little bird." Throwing her head back, Sansa struggles to think coherently. "Here?" he asks, dipping his tongue inside. Gasping, Sansa grabs his hair and presses him closer. "Oh yes, right there husband."

Laughing low, the sound of his voice vibrates through her body as he continues exploring her, plunging his tongue deeper inside of her woman's place languidly. "How about here?" Gasping she nods, "Sandor yes-oh gods that feels so good," she moans, pulling him down onto the bed with her.

Never would he have imagined he could gain such satisfaction from giving pleasure to another and he is pleasantly surprised what a man can learn by taking his time learning his woman's body. Smiling against her skin, Sandor marvels at his lovely wife's response to his gentle lovemaking. Keeping his mouth pressed firmly against her woman's place, Sandor cradles her thighs as she begins rolling her hips against him and crying out his name. Writhing beneath him and gasping, she soon finds her completion, filling Sandor with a deep sense of satisfaction though he has not yet found his own release.

"Sandor, I am ready for you now; come into me I beg you," she whines low, the sound of her passion flooding his body with lust for her as she quickly unlaces him, freeing his manhood. Gently he enters her, moving slowly until she is ready for more, his body trembling with effort to restrain his passion. Spurred on by her reassurances, Sandor increases his movements until the couple finds their completion together. Sandor buries his face in her hair as he shouts his release, clinging to her tightly he begins trembling; Sansa gently runs her hands over him soothingly. "I know my love, I feel it too. So powerful is the bond and it seems to be growing stronger still."

Grinning, he snuggles her against his chest. "I am jealous of the woman that taught you such my love," Sansa smiles up at him, snickering wickedly. "No love, you mustn't be, for you are one in the same. I have had my share of whores it's true but I have loved only you and you alone, wife. I have never made love or cared for another before you." Giggling softly, Sansa rolls out from under him. "My love, who would believe such beautiful words would come from the Hound?"

"The Hound no longer Lady Clegane; only your Dog now, I will do as you bid," he teases, scooping her up in his arms and settles them both down into the steaming water. "There is nothing I would like more than to lounge here with you but I must bathe now before our absence raises the curiosity of the men."

"A bath just as you wish my lady, he growls in her ear, then takes the soap and slowly runs his hands over her skin, causing her to moan in spite of herself. Sandor I am afraid Petyr will be suspicious if we tarry," she chides as he finishes washing her body and turns his attention to her hair, running his long fingers through the delicate strands with care. When he is finished rinsing her, she takes her turn bathing him, slowly massaging her soapy hands over his hairy chest. "If you are my dog than it is I who should bathe you."

"Aye you have the right of it-I am your dog, love, do as you wish. But don't mention that buggering bastard when I have you naked in my arms," he rasps, moaning low as she languidly runs her soapy hands over his back and thighs. "By the gods that feels good; we'll never leave this room at this rate," he growls into her mouth. "Oh but we must dearest," she giggles against his lips, turning his head so she can wash his hair. Looking up at her, she dips the water over his hair and he feels himself drowning in the dark blue ocean of her eyes.

He is completely carried away by the knowledge that this beautiful creature he has loved and longed for so long is now is his in body as well as soul, his treasured wife. "You just wait til I get you all to myself little bird." Smiling brilliantly, she slowly kisses him while toweling off his hair. "I look forward to it husband, we must practice for such a time as much as possible I think." Hooting, he squeezes her tight against his chest and she joins him in laughing at her brazen words.

After they are finished bathing Sandor dries her off and carefully helps her dress; he finds even lacing her gown thrilling and he loves taking care of her in any way she may require. Never has anyone needed him and looked to him for help and he discovers being useful to his love gives him an intoxicating sense of pride and intensifies his devotion all the more.

After he is dressed Sandor pours hot water over the tea leaves and allows them to steep. "This doesn't smell like the mint I gave you," he comments, sniffing the steam rising from the cup closely. Laughing, Sansa cannot help but think he resembles his sigil now more than ever. "It is moon tea dearest, mixed with the mint leaves. I want us to wait for our family, when we are safe." Smiling, he hands her the cup. "A wise little bird you are, wife. Where did you get it pray tell?" Smirking, she gestures toward the door. "Petyr would lose his entire fortune if not for this tea. It is not so hard to come by here in the Eyrie and Ros was most willing to help my maid."

Before they leave the room, Sandor takes her face in his hands and kisses her tenderly. "Little Bird, the day after next I will free you from this cage. You will spend the rest of your life with me and we will make a new nest together for our family." Tears sparkle in her eyes at his words and she passionately kisses him in return. "Little Birds sing sweetest in their own nests my love. I will give you as many songs as you wish for the rest of your days."


	17. Petyr Makes His Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much to everyone for all the kind words, thoughts, prayers and messages-I was truly overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support! The worst of my treatment is over and I will have surgery on January 14-nothing too major and hopefully that will end this phase of treatment. I will be updating more regularly but I'll definitely get back into the swing of things after January 14, so here's something to tide you over :) *Big group bear hugs*

Standing before the roaring fireplace of the cavernous great room, Petyr heatedly watches Sansa glide down the stairs, gracefully managing her skirts with ease on Sandor's arm. Observing the man's demeanor, Sandor can plainly see their precarious situation degrading before his very eyes. Silently he thanks the gods Elder Brother sent his raven before breaking his fast with Baelish. Watching his beloved wife, he knows the time has drawn near to make their escape.

Stepping onto the landing, Sansa finally allows herself to look upon Petyr, her nails digging into Sandor's arm anxiously; he responds with a quick pat on the hand. She grows even more beautiful every day, Sandor muses as he steals a glance at her, her radiance sending his heart racing anew. The deep emerald green of her gown sharply contrasts with the lovely auburn highlights returning to her hair and accentuates the rosy blush in her cheeks. Her deep cerulean eyes remain lowered, her countenance guardedly passive, careful not to betray a hint of emotion as she coolly walks toward the waiting men.

As the couple enters the great room Sansa purses her lips ever so slightly, nodding toward Elder Brother and Lord Baelish. Infuriated, Petyr jerks her arm away from Sandor. "You kept our guests waiting yet again, dearest," he hisses low in her ear, carefully observing her reaction. "I do not believe the Silent Brother objected. He rather seemed to enjoy waiting for me," she comments casually, tucking a stray strand of hair back into her comb demurely.

Littlefucker keeps his eyes solely on her; that'll make things easier for certain. 'What we don't know is what usually gets us killed'...he used to say, he's going to find out how right he is; it won't be long now…Clearing his throat, Sandor turns toward the fireplace to hide his mouth twitching into a grin. "That is not the point. We have important matters to discuss and we cannot waste another moment with this foolish behavior." Maintaining her disinterested expression, she dully replies, "Oh, yes?" then clinks her spoon around in her teacup without waiting for his reply. Sighing, Baelish growls, "Stop this insolence this instant! What has gotten into you? As your father you owe me an explanation."

My father, his words scorch Sansa's ears. "My father?" She taunts, sharply turning toward him, barely able to contain her ire. "You are not my father! Elder Brother, Silent Brother-gods be good, even Ros knows I am not your daughter-it must be the worst kept secret in the entire Vale!" Sansa sneers, her eyes filled with hatred. "My father would not lie to a septon, which is the very the least of the differences between you. The brothers of the Seven here know my real identity; let us at least have honesty with them and end this ridiculous pretense. I would like to be referred to as Sansa from now on and put Alayne away once and for all."

Elder Brother looks at Sandor, whose dark eyes are brimming with fury. Comprehending Sansa's indignation is partly caused by her echoing Sandor's feelings, he tries to steer the conversation in a new direction. "Lord Baelish, this alters matters considerably. You sent for us to perform a wedding between you and Lady Stark and then claimed she was Alayne, your daughter. We agreed to come here based on an untruth. This naturally leads me to believe there may be even more deception to this whole situation. What would you propose I do?"

"I would suggest very carefully considering how much you value your Quiet Isle before making any hasty decisions that would negatively impact your sept." Petyr speaks his threats deliberately and calmly. "You will perform the marriage between me and Sansa Stark on the morrow and I will accept no argument on the subject." At this several sellswords appear in the greatroom, brandishing their weapons and blocking the entryways. Frightened, Sansa's eyes dart around her and for a moment Sandor fears she will try to flee.

"Sansa, there is more news my dear. Your cousin has finally succumbed to his illness and passed away." Gasping, Sansa visibly pales, leading Sandor to offer his arm in support; his breath is taken away by her intense suffering resonating in his heart. "When did this happen? He seemed fine when I kissed him goodnight." Baelish nods curtly, feigning grief. "Indeed I came upon him suddenly; the poor child drew his last breath within the past hour."

Closing in on her, Baelish hisses in her ear. "We simply must keep this hidden as long as possible. Once word spreads through the Vale the Royces will no doubt be swift to stake their claim. That is why we must wed as soon as possible; on the morrow in fact. Then we will be in a position to retake Winterfell."

"But…but Sweetrobin must have a service…" Sansa stammers, reaching for Sandor, forgetting herself in her grief. Elder Brother steps in and takes her by the arm, his calm countenance remaining unaltered by the threatening appearance of the men. "The boy deserves a proper burial my lord. Lady Sansa, please be seated my dear." Several of the guards step forward; Petyr dismisses them with a wave of the hand.

"Lord Baelish the poor lass is shocked witless by the mere suggestion of allowing this terrible loss to her family go unrecognized." Petyr Baelish grins wickedly. "Perhaps you may perform such before our wedding Elder Brother; your silence on the matter is required of course. I will allow a small ceremony for the boy on the condition it precludes our wedding."

Elder Brother calmly gazes about the room, surveying the armed men. "Are these men supposed to ensure my cooperation? I assure you it will have no effect whatsoever-I have already told you death holds no fear for me Lord Baelish; in fact, I welcome it, for my loved ones await me in the afterlife. Now then, I suggest a less aggressive approach to the matter."

"Really Lord Baelish…bringing these men into the ancestral home of my cousin at such a time as this is beyond contempt." Sansa's voice is strong, though she trembles as she folds her hands together, supporting herself against the divan. "Please, just make your wishes known and let there be an end to this for everyone's sake."

Sandor's body is flooded with fear, her fear. Enraged by her suffering, he struggles to maintain his composure so that he may wait for the right time to strike. Taking a deep breath he fights to still his fury, clearing his mind in the manner Elder Brother taught him when he was healing from his injuries. Images of their time spent in the old Stone Crow Carrig's cabin come to mind, and he focuses on the peaceful feeling of holding her in his arms, their bare skin pressed close together as they snuggled under the furs. His heart wills Sansa to feel his calmness and allows it to spread throughout his body and mind, desperate to project the same to her so she too will calm down.

"My wish is for us to be wed on the morrow. You will cooperate as the dutiful daughter of Winterfell you were raised to be by your mother. Family. Duty. Honor," Baelish intones, walking toward Sansa. "Remember the words of your mother's house. The North needs this, Sweetling, as do we," he stares into her eyes and runs his hand along her arm suggestively, sending a shiver of disgust through her. "I will do whatever it takes to see this accomplished."

Sickening bile rises in her throat as she meets his gaze. He killed Sweetrobin for me; he will never let me go and he will never stop hunting me. His obsession with my mother will never allow it; he will haunt me as long as he lives, gods help me…

Bitter tears sting her eyes and Sansa understands the role she must play for her own safety, as well as that of Elder Brother and Sandor. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Sandor, his jaw clenched, his hands resting on the fighting knife strapped to his thigh beneath his robes watching, waiting for the signal to strike.

"Alright, Lord Baelish, you are right; I should remember my house words. I do not want to seem ungrateful-after all you took me away from King's Landing and have provided for me this entire time now; it is time for me to return north as a married woman." Her words leave a bitter taste in her mouth but Sansa smiles and puts on her familiar obedient mask, continuing to meet Petyr's gaze as she holds out her hand to him. His preoccupation with power renders the true meaning of my words obscured, Sansa thinks scornfully.

Smirking, he lowers his mouth to her skin, placing a wet lingering kiss on her hand while never breaking eye contact with her. Trembling, Sansa's mind is flooded by Sandor's anger coursing through her but ever the proper lady she maintains her façade, hiding away her revulsion for the man. "I couldn't agree more my dear. I see you have inherited your mothers' sense of duty and practicality."

"That is kind of you to say," she replies, her mouth pulling into a tight smile. "We will have the funeral and the wedding on the morrow." When Baelish finally releases her, Sansa walks over to Elder brother and loops her arm through his. "I wish to go to the godswood and pray for my cousin Lord Baelish; will you join us?" Nodding slowly, Petyr winces at her words and then triumphantly grins. "You go ahead my dear, you may go accompanied by two of my guards of course. What did you say you shall you pray for Sweetling?"

Glancing sideways at Sandor, Sansa's voice is barely audible. "Well first I will pray that the Father will reunite my cousin with his mother and father in the afterlife. I will pray the Mother will bless my marriage and I'll pray for home-for Winterfell and for our safe return." Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulls Sansa toward him. "That pleases me Sansa; that pleases me greatly." His breath is hot against her cheek and the very nearness of Baelish sends a shudder through Sansa.

"I'll see you at supper my Lord," she smiles and bows before taking the arm Elder Brother offers her. Sandor falls in behind them as they leave the room with Baelish's sellswords in tow. "Let us go to the godswood my dear, quickly now," Elder Brother hurries her along while Sandor hangs behind, walking beside the sellswords. Once under the cover of the trees, a sharp twisting pain churns though Sansa's abdomen, the sudden intensity bringing her to her knees gasping for breath.

Elder Brother scoops her up in his arms and continues onward without looking behind. "Close your eyes my dear," he whispers in her ear; peeking over his shoulder Sansa glimpses Sandor moving with surprising speed. His blinding rage pulses in her head and stomach as she watches him mercilessly slit the throat of the first sellsword before plunging his fighting knife into the abdomen of the second man. Sandor looks down at the bodies, smirking as he watches their blood steaming in the cold air of the forest. "Oh! Elder Brother he-" Gulping, Elder Brother takes her deeper into the canopy of trees that open into the godswood. "I know my dear, I know," he says softly as he sets her down onto a fallen log.

"But how-how did you know?" Sansa asks, visibly surprised. "Lady Sansa, Sandor did no more than I would have done in his place-I was once a knight, you know. It is second nature for him to protect you as your husband. The gods have made it so between marriage mates my dear; do not fault him for safeguarding you." Stunned, she slowly shakes her head. "No, no I would not," she whispers, thinking of another time long ago he killed to protect her. "How did he know they would try to hurt me?" Patting her on the shoulder, Elder Brother leans down as he speaks. "He sent the men to kill us my dear. Lord Baelish knows I will not perform the marriage no matter whether you agree under duress. With Sandor and I out of the way he would send a raven to the sept in the Vale in my name saying you were married before the gods and take you as wife, giving him power over any other claimants to the Eyrie as Lord Protector of the North married to the last living relative of Robert Arryn."

Her head swimming, she nods, raising her hand to her throat. It would have all been too easy for him to seize Winterfell with my father's bannermen; none of whom would dare doubt the word of Lord Eddard's oldest daughter. Suddenly she is running toward Sandor, jumping into his arms, ignoring his blood spattered clothing and the dead men strewn about his feet. "My love, are you alright?" she asks, frantically searching him for wounds, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. "Don't fret; I'm not hurt Little bird." Pulling her close against his chest, he whispers into her hair, "Calm yourself love. These bastards would have been no match for me on my worst day."

"We…we must find a way to escape soon…Petyr will only hire more men," she sobs out, desperately clinging to him. The sound of Elder Brother's footsteps cause the couple to look up. "Lady Sansa, you must calm down; your health is only beginning to return to you." Making the sign of the Seven over the pair, Elder Brother continues into the godswood. "Peace be with the two of you now. I will leave you both alone for a while; I shall be praying for our safety and wisdom on how to best handle these matters."

"Sansa, listen to me now; it'll be alright." Sandor whispers to her, handing her a handkerchief as she sobs against his chest. "I know it looks bad but you must trust me. I've already made arrangements for our escape; your health has been so fragile Elder Brother thought it best to keep them quiet." Lifting her chin so she meets his gaze, he stares deep into her eyes. "I want to hear you say it. Say you trust me."

Smiling tremulously, she nods. "You know I do Sandor. Why must you ask me? Raising his eyebrows he looks down at her. "I believe you do. Don't you believe I will keep you safe? I promised you I would girl. You mustn't-" The crunching noise of hooves in the snow startle the couple out of their conversation, heralding the arrival of Carrig in the company of a half dozen Stone Crows.


	18. A Fear Realized

A cold fear chills Sansa as she approaches the men with Sandor and her involuntarily shivering draws his attention to her. After glancing at her momentarily, Sandor continues conversing with the newcomers but their words sound distant in her ears. Distracted, Sansa tries to clear her head and absently rubs her stomach as Sandor leads her over to the grizzled man.

"Thought I'd come and see how things were going, Hound. Been awhile since I enjoyed a good fight but from the looks of things, it seems I missed it," The old man cackles, turning to study Sansa. "Now _this_ young lady here is who brings you to the Vale, I'll wager."

Grunting Sandor nods and then places his arm around his wife. "Carrig, this is my wife, Sansa Clegane." Smiling politely, Sansa tentatively offers her hand to the man all the while looking at Sandor questioningly.

Carrig dismounts and gives the girl the once over before taking her hand in his. "Sansa Stark, as was, I'd bet my life on it. Your father was a good man, an honorable man, a rare thing in this day and age. Seen enough Tullys around these parts over the years to know their kin when I see one. Kissed by fire that clan, one and all."

Sansa's eyes widen and she laughs at his words. "You have a good eye, ser. I am the oldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and my mother is Catelyn Stark, formerly Catelyn Tully of Riverrun. Have you ever met my un-" Before she finishes speaking, an overwhelmingly intense pain slams into her stomach, bringing Sansa to her knees. Pale and doubled over, Sansa weakly reaches out for Sandor, who lifts her to her feet, supporting her against his side.

"Little bird, are you alright? What is it? Those stomach pains again?"

"Yes, I…oh, gods, this is so much worse! Like the other day, remember I told you about when I was fitted for my wedding gown. I don't understand this, I thought it I was better, I haven't had this pain since you found me," she winces as Sandor and Elder brother ease her over to a fallen log.

No more is Sansa seated and Sandor himself grits his teeth in pain while grabbing his stomach, his own body registering the pain coursing through his wife.

"Sandor, oh this is awful. Are you afflicted as well, husband?"

"Aye I feel it too love, a sharp pain indeed, though not as strong as you seem to suffer with, to be sure."

Elder brother gently presses his hand against her stomach. "It is the same as before, Lady Sansa?"

Sansa nods. "Sandor, is this the same pain you experienced on the Quiet Isle?"

"Yes, one in the same. How in Seven hells can that be?"

Sighing, Elder brother feels her head and then hands her a flask, bidding her to drink. "Sansa is still in grave danger, Sandor-in fact we _all_  are. As long as this situation remains you will both continue to feel it through the bond, though I dare say Lady Sansa is getting the worst of it. I consider it a dire warning from the gods that she is worsening in such a rapid fashion. We must leave here at once."

Curious, Carrig approaches them. "So, you're bonded to the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, is that right, Hound? The old gods have a strong connection with the Starks and have for generations; it is known. Such bonding is no laughing matter, Hound, I've seen this a time or two in my life. You feeling better, child?"

"Yes, please forgive me. These queer pains have been bothering me for the past week or so."

"Humph, you best let our healer look at you, lass."

"You are so kind, thank you, but Elder brother here has been taking care of me. I need some of that mint tea, I believe." Far in the distance, a lone wolf howls long and low, its mournful cry echoing throughout the godswood.

"I've seen such bonds before lass, there's no mistaking them, forged in the hearts of men by the old gods. Take care to heed them." The lonesome howling wolf song resounds in the godswood, closer now, causing the horses to stomp and nicker nervously.

"Wolves. Even at this time of year these mountains are thick with them. I got no patience for them, myself. No harm meant to your sigil, lass."

"I understand. Besides, that was not a wolf; that was a direwolf." Sansa answers without thinking. Sandor pauses at her words, watching her closely.

"No matter, I'm not partial to either of them." Grinning his toothless smile, the old man reaches down and takes Sansa's hand. "I am Carrig, Chief of the Eyrie clan of Stone Crows. Glad to know you, child. I never thought I'd live to meet the daughter of Winterfell."

Helping Sansa to her feet, Sandor raises his good eyebrow at Carrig. "Chief? You never said such to me, you old devil."

Laughing, Carrig slaps him on the back. "You never admitted you was Sandor Clegane either."

"True enough, Chief Carrig, I'd say we're about even."

"You helped me with my wife without knowing who I was and I'll not forget the good turn you did me and mine. I'll see you and your wife safe and then you can consider us even. Most likely her misery will stop then, too." Laughing low, the old man shakes his head. "Can't believe you didn't know I wasn't some regular clansman. My home should have been the first clue, boy."

"Aye, you have the right of it there. I was distracted when we met." Sandor grunts, jerking his head toward Sansa and then waving over Elder brother, who watches the exchange with a smile.

"I am Elder brother, a devoted man of the Seven serving at the septry on the Quiet Isle, Chief Carrig. We are most glad to see you men."

"Elder brother, it's a surprise to find a holy man and a healer together in one man. You're far from home to be sure. You must be the one responsible for the change in the Hound."

"Sandor is responsible for his own changes. I only pointed him in the right direction."

Sizing Elder brother up, Carrig continues, "You have the look of a knight, man. You ever serve?"

Laughing, Elder brother nods. "Indeed, at one time I did, many years hence. I was not aware it was still apparent."

Turning to Sansa, he grins, "I can always spot a man of battle. See, child, men like us know the importance of keeping some things quiet."

Sansa takes both his hands into her own. "Chief Carrig, it was most kind of you to allow us the use of your home. Sandor found me in the snow and nursed me back to health there."

"I thought he may need it, lass. He's got the look of a man on a mission, that one. From the looks of things, he's been handling his business, too," Carrig comments, walking over to the dead men and nudging their bodies with the toe of his boot. "These aren't mine. We barred them from the tribe for raping two women a few years back. They come here to attack your lady?"

"Yes, but not in the manner you said. Baelish hired them on: these and about six more at the Eyrie. Sellswords, not very good ones, either."

"Humph! Cowardly bastards, every last one of 'em. He's been using them to keep your lady captive, is that it?"

"Yes, Chief Carrig. He has held me there against my will for the past six months."

"Well, we'll just see about that. I owe you, Clegane. I'll not leave you three to fend for yourselves." Out from the dense trees appear twelve more men at Carrig's words, all waiting for their leader's next command.

Elder brother smiles at Sandor, nodding slowly. "The gods have answered your prayers Sandor. The time has come for you both to leave this place."

At his words Sansa sobs out her relief. Burying her face in Sandor's tunic, her intense outpouring of emotion bringing hot tears to Sandor's eyes as well. As her tears continue unabated, the grove of weirwoods once more is filled with howling and Sandor glances around the area cautiously, clutching her close to his chest.

Gasping, Sansa suddenly shakes her head. "No, no Sandor, it is impossible, we cannot go yet! My cousin, he must be buried! He will not rest in the afterlife if he is left as he is now."

"Easy lass, you must calm yourself." Sandor whispers, wrapping her close in his arms.

Elder brother pats her arm soothingly. "You must not think like that, Lady Sansa. The gods know all things and remember those loyal to them, no matter the manner of death or burial. Come child, let the men speak of their plans without us."

Sandor gently untangles her arms from around him and leads her into the godswood with Elder brother. "You are still quite pale and it would ease my mind if you would rest for a while in the godswood with Elder brother. I have some chamomile leaves you may chew to settle your nerves," he whispers into her hair, kissing the top of her head. "It won't taste very good, but it will help you."

Taking her aside from Elder brother, Sandor rasps low, "What is happening, Sansa? I feel this immense fear from you in addition to the pain. Please, talk to me. Tell me what the fuck is going on." His words are tinged with deep seated fear for her safety and Sansa senses it in his tone.

"Sandor, all I can tell you is this all-consuming fear suddenly came over me as you were about to introduce me to Chief Carrig, which is confusing because neither he nor any of his men seem to be the cause of it. I am so frightened Sandor-I used to find peace here, alone in the godswood but now…now my fear is even more acute and grows graver still with each passing minute. Please, don't leave me."

Sighing, Sandor grits his teeth, struggling to distinguish his own feelings from hers. "Sansa, I must speak to them. The Stone Crows will help us escape. I'll only be a short ways away, I promise." Leaning closer he gently strokes her hair, "What else is it, Sansa? There's more to it, love, I know there is. It is eating you up, I can sense it. Don't try to hide it from me."

"I feel this fury twisting in my gut that is not mine and it's not yours. It is dark, primal almost, I don't know another way to explain it. I don't understand it, I've never experienced any of this before, except-"

"Except when, Sansa?"

Looking away, she shakes her head in disbelief. "It feels like when Lady was killed. Arya felt it too, it was so intense we could not sleep.  We spoke of it at the time. I'm so very angry and empty and distracted-but I don't understand it at all. Sandor, what do you think is happening to us?"

Elder brother gently loops her arm through his. "We'll say our prayers, the gods will give us the answer. You'll find your peace and regain your strength in no time. There's a good lass." Sitting her down before the heart tree, the holy man steps back closer to Sandor, motioning for him to follow.

Elder brother pats his arm reassuringly as they move away from her. "You must act quickly Sandor. I fear for her safety. The bond is growing ever stronger, and changing, too."

Grunting, Sandor nods, his worried gaze following his weakened wife into the weirwood grove. "She spoke of feeling now as she did with "lady"-who is lady?"

"She was Sansa's pet direwolf, the one she was bonded to originally. I think our bond replaced the one she had with the direwolf when her father put it to death, as crazy as that sounds."

"Was her Lady the only wolf cub in the family?"

"No, as I recall when I was at Winterfell each one of the Stark children had one. Her sister Arya brought one from Winterfell as well, she was there when Lady died. The only direwolf that I know is dead besides Lady is the one belonging to Sansa's brother, Robb. He was the king in the North who was murdered by the Freys and those bastards killed his direwolf, too."

"Yes I heard about that atrocity. Does Lady Sansa know how her brother and his wolf were found?" Elder brother whispers close to Sandor.

"Aye, that buggering sadistic fuck Joffrey blurted it out as they broke their fast in front of the whole damned Lannister family. I heard it from Tyrion's sellsword.  I ran into him at the Inn at the Crossroads not long before you found me."

"This bonding the two of you share is more powerful than I originally thought. It is somehow connected to the Starks and their direwolves, apparently. Do you believe she is sensing she is about to lose you as she lost her direwolf?"

"I don't know but I am not going to let that happen, you best believe that."

"Your anger grows as her suffering increases and I can see the Hound returning in you," Elder brother comments calmly. "We'll stay in prayer until you are finished speaking with the Stone Crows. I am certain the gods will give us an answer, Sandor, we must have faith." Sandor shakes Elder brother's hand before he walks back to the heart tree and kneels down to pray beside Sansa.

"Clegane, your wife looks to have suffered quite a trial, poor lass. At the hand of Petyr Baelish, no less-I hope you skin him alive for it." Carrig says when Sandor returns to the men. "When this is over, take your ease at my home, as a wedded gift. Take as much time as you need and see your wife well again. Now, what would you have us do about Baelish's men?"

"Kill every last one of those bloody whoresons in the Eyrie. Baelish is _mine._ That buggering bastard will pray for death before I'm through with him." Sandor snarls through gritted teeth.

"Then let's get to it men. We'll follow your lead, Hound. By the gods, she's your woman and it's your place to right this for her."

"I thank you men, I-" Sandor is interrupted by Sansa's terrified scream in the godswood.

"No! No! Oh gods, Petyr, what have you done?" Sandor races toward the heart tree where he sees Sansa cradling Elder brother in her arms. The holy man is run through the chest by a spear, his blood pouring out of his side and staining the snow beneath them.

"The Hound, as I live and breathe. A most unpleasant surprise."

"Littlefucker." Sandor growls low, drawing both his greatsword and shortsword as he advances toward the man.

"Sandor," Elder brother gasps, "help her."

Ignoring him, Petyr continues, motioning for his sellswords to show themselves. "So, this is quite a feat for a man of your somewhat questionable intelligence. Remarkable, really-somehow you convinced this hapless holy man to bring you into my home, right under my nose. As men of your profession would say, the gods only know what else happened from there."

"Petyr how could you? How could you strike down a man of the Seven while we were praying?! Have you no fear of the gods?" Sansa shouts, her voice strong, fearless.

Baelish's voice is even, each word from his mouth dripping venom. "Sweetling, there are consequences for deceiving me, as you are about to find out. Take her, men!"


	19. Petyr's Plan

Narrowing his eyes at her, Petyr dismounts from his horse, hissing, "This treachery is most unexpected, Sansa. My sentimentality blinded me once; it will not happen a second time. I would like to think I had some part in your…education in such matters, however, and I intend on finishing your lessons here and now. Take her."

One of Baelish's men steps toward Sansa, roughly grabbing her by the arm. Crying out, Sansa wrenches away from him, "Get away from us! How dare you violate this holy place! The gods will punish you for this!" Anger floods Sansa's senses as she pummels the man with her fists. Startled, the man quickly retreats, only to be swiftly caught in the throat by Sandor's fighting knife.

A fearsome bellow fills the godswood, leaving no doubt that the Hound is very much alive. With eyes fixed in a blind fury, Sandor singularly slashes through the men nearest Sansa while Carrig and his men engage the other sellswords in heated battle. Scrambling over Elder brother, she covers him with her own body, trying to shield him from the mêlée surrounding them. Angry shouts, screams of pain and the sharp clashing of steel against steel rings in Sansa's ears as she holds him close to her, whispering her prayers to the gods for protection.

Encircled by enormous guards, Petyr cautiously recoils from the battle, moving deeper into the godswood while motioning another large Stone Crow toward Sansa. In one swift motion the filthy man violently snatches her by the arm, wrenching her out from under the injured Elder brother, the intense pain causing her to shriek in agony. Sandor roars in response to their shared suffering, brutally thrusting his sword into the nearest man before tossing him aside. Mercilessly the Hound hacks through Baelish's guards as he advances toward his terrified wife.

Heat floods Sandor's body, the man physically experiencing his wife's fear suddenly give way to fury. Smirking, he watches her slap the sellsword with all the strength she can muster. Her efforts barely register with the meaty man, however, and once more another man engages Sandor before he can reach her.

Grinning, the Stone Crow turns his head and spits out a mouthful of blood. "So the wolf bitch has claws, does she?" he chuckles low, eying her as he contemplates his next move. "How dare you! Get away from us!"

The lumbering man has little time for further deliberation, for when he raises his eyes he sees Sandor charging towards him full speed with a frightening animalistic fury gleaming from his eyes while shouting curses at the top of his voice. Frozen by fear, the man blankly stares at the ferocious Hound and backs away, too distracted to prevent Elder brother from grabbing the knife strapped to his leg and plunging the blade into the man's gut. "Seems you don't have the stomach for snatching young women," the Hound sneers, leaning down to watch the screaming man's intestines slowly pour out onto the ground. "Mercy, Hound, mercy," the sellsword whispers in response, helplessly watching Elder brother crawl away from them.

Sandor snorts. "Mercy? A knife in the gut is the only mercy you're like to see." Leaning in closer still Sandor growls, "Go to the seven hells learning this lesson: no one touches my wife," before raising his short sword and slitting his throat. With surprising speed, Sandor draws Sansa up on her feet and clutches her against his chest, all the while guardedly eying the men around him. "Littlefinger, you buggering bastard, quit your hiding and face me, gods damn you!"

Baelish steps out from the shadowy weirwood trees while one of the sellswords leads a large bay behind him with a bundle tied to its back. Glimpsing around her, Sansa gasps, "Gods be good…Petyr, is that…is that Sweetrobin?" Smirking at her, Petyr strokes his beard and waves off the sellswords. "Indeed it is, Sweetling. You didn't really expect me to have him buried tomorrow here in the godswood, did you? With the Royces scrambling for the seat here in the Vale, they would insist on removing his body from the crypt to discern the cause of his demise, no doubt using their barbaric sorcery. You and I both know I could never allow that to happen."

Paling, Sansa doubles over once more in agony and Sandor instinctively pulls her closer to him, never taking his eyes of Baelish. "So, you tamed yourself a Hound, did you? You think if you throw him a few scraps he'll follow you wherever you go? Remember how he treated Joffrey, a boy he guarded from infancy? That's your future too," Chuckling, Petyr shakes his head. "Poor Sansa. Do you actually think he can help you here in the Vale, even with his Stone Crow friends?"

"He already has done more for me that you will ever do!" Sansa gasps out, gritting her teeth through the pain searing through her stomach. Wincing, Sandor props her up under his arm, murderously watching Littlefinger, torn between slitting the mockingbird's throat and helping his anguished wife.

"So the Hound has become an honorable man, eh? The monster arrives to save the fair maiden; how quaint." Sandor moves forward one step, gripping Sansa tightly to his chest. "Have you forgotten that I lived among your Tully relations, Sweetling? Family. Duty. Honor," Littlefinger chuckles bitterly at this. "Let's look at all the good so-called honor has done the Tullys, shall we? Lysa, hmm not so good," he tisks, clicking his tongue against his teeth and shaking his head. Sansa gasps at his words and Petyr chuckles. "Sweetrobin is dead. Your mother has been left a living corpse."

"How dare you speak of honor! How could you commit such treachery after my grandfather took you into his home as raised you as a son?!"

"A son? Hardly. Hoster Tully would not consent to giving me your mother's hand, for all his "fatherly" treatment, as you say. Too low-born, he said. A matter of honor, he said, when I took Lysa's maidenhead to spite him. It was then I learnt that I'll never win. Not that way. That's their game, their rules. I'm not going to fight them: I'm going to fuck them. That's what I know, that's what I am, and that is how I get what I want. Don't overlook the Tullys moral ambiguity, Sansa. I certainly have not. I know exactly how this game is played."

"Did you…did you kill my uncle, Jon Arryn?" Sansa whispers, clutching her stomach tightly, steeling herself for his response.

Smirking, Baelish winks at her. "How else could I get your family to come to King's Landing? And your father, well, that was all too easy once your mother left." Anger clouds his face once again as he strokes his beard. "None of the so-called honorable Tullys or Starks came for you in King's Landing, not even your own mother and brother. They left you for me and so, I took what was mine by right."

"You…you are a madman!" Sansa sputters in fury, her voice echoing through the trees. No one but Sandor seems to notice the birds and squirrels suddenly stop chattering, effecting an eerie silence upon the godswood.

"Enough!" Sandor growls, stepping forward. "Talking shit will not buy you time, Littlefucker. Enough of your mockingbird rants. Let's end this." Stepping forward, Sansa takes hold of Sandor's arm. "Wait, my love, please. Petyr, what do you mean 'yours by right'?"

"Your grandfather made Lysa drink moontea after our coupling and denied me an heir. The man who you claim treated me as a son would rather end the possibility of having a grandchild sired by me than give me his daughter. So I took his granddaughter, Sweetling. You were my daughter and now you will be wife to me. I have not forgotten what I am owed."

Sansa stares on in stunned disbelief while holding her stomach, her pains coming faster and more intense with each passing moment. Carrig takes his place beside Sandor, motioning for the rest of his men to surround the godswood. Baelish turns his eyes to the agonized expression frozen on the dead man at Sandor's feet.

Smirking, Petyr's face twists into a tight smile. "Why Elder brother," he mocks, "It would seem you violated your vow to do no harm. Such a pity, too, now that you are so close to death."

"I took a vow as a knight to protect the weak and defenseless long before I became a holy man," Elder brother gasps out. "You've violated the sanctuary of the old gods, taken captive and abused young Sansa. Which vows seemed most relevant to you Lord Baelish?"

Smirking, Baelish steps forward. "Well said, holy man. Tell me, have you wed my betrothed to the Hound or is she simply fucking him into loyalty?" Sandor advances toward Petyr while two of Carrig's men help Elder brother and Sansa to move a safe distance away. "I love Sandor and I have married him in front of the old gods, Petyr. You will never have what you have sought for all your threats."

"Wedded and bedded, Littlefucker. Once again you've been outsmarted by a Tully when it comes to your marriage plans." Sandor laughs, sounding like the snarling of dogs in a pit. Enduring Sansa's agony both weakens him physically and yet at the same time strengthens the Hound's fury. Even as she languishes alongside Elder brother, her anger and suffering fuels his wrath; with another frightening roar Sandor charges toward Baelish, who hastily retreats back toward the horse.

Quickly, Petyr leaps onto the bay carrying Sweetrobin, the startled animal rearing and snorting as Petyr digs in his heels into its flanks. "No! Fuck, you cowardly buggering bastard! Get back here and face me, damn you!" Sandor roars, running along side Baelish until out of breath. "Ioan, Padrick, don't let him get away!" Carrig shouts while mounting his horse.

"Sandor, oh gods, Petyr cannot escape!" Sansa cries, slumping over and writhing in pain. "Fuck!" Sandor mutters under his breath as he races over to her, lifting her into his arms. "Little Bird, that bay won't take him far. That horse isn't made to run in this steep terrain and besides, Baelish is not used to riding the way Carrig and his men are. Calm yourself, now," he whispers to her quietly, glancing nervously at Elder brother. "Sandor," the holy man hoarsely whispers, "The gods will help you. Put away the Hound and pray for help as I taught you. The Father will stop him."

"Your holy man friend here will make it, Hound, no worries there," the healer chuckles, patting Elder brother's shoulder. "Carrig will fetch Baelish. I've seen him relentlessly pursue many a man who did a lot less than that one. Go on and pray to the gods with your wife."

"Aye, let's all pray then." Kneeling down with Sansa wrapped tightly in his arms, Sandor makes the sign of the Seven, closes his eyes, and silently begs the Father to give justice to Sansa for all that has befallen her. Focusing on calming down, he slowly draws deep breaths all the while asking the Mother to strengthen her health. Next he asks the Crone for wisdom and finally entreats the Warrior to allow him to catch Petyr and exact vengeance for Sansa's suffering and for all Baelish has done against the gods and men. When he raises his eyes, he sees both Elder brother and Sansa deep in prayer. Sensing Sandor is finished with his prayer, she concludes her own and then touches his cheek before giving him a small smile. Sandor gently kisses her in return and then turns to Elder brother who nods slightly in response, "Have faith now, the both of you."

A great refrain of wolf song echoes through the godswood, breaking the silence of the forest. "We'd better move, those beasts smell blood," The healer remarks while he and another man begin to lift Elder brother on to the packhorse. Suddenly the animal rears and then dances sideways from the men pulling on the reigns, all the while rolling his eyes in fear.

Suddenly raising up, Sansa tilts her head to the side, seemingly intent on listening. "What is it Littlebird? Hear something?" Before Sandor finishes speaking a bloodcurdling screeching shatters the godswood, causing the group to collectively jump as the horrific sound continues ahead of them on the trail.

"Nymeria," Sansa whispers.


	20. A Well Deserved Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains canon typical violence and, as Onborrowedwings warned for her "When We Were Young" fic, a well deserved death.

The Stone Crow healer straps Elder brother to the pack-horse before slowly leading the frightened animal along the path. "Whatever creature is making that savage noise, it's just up ahead of us," Elder brother remarks.

Sansa senses Nymeria before she sees the enormous direwolf. Hurrying out to the trail, Sansa runs toward the snarls and screams and Sandor races to catch up to her. "Fuck, Sansa, wait!" he shouts, grabbing her arm and yanking her back to his side. "If that bloody beast up there is your sister's direwolf, she isn't a cub anymore. She may not even remember you."

"Let me go, Sandor, please!" Sansa cries, trying to free herself from his grasp. "Can you not feel her? The fury that has roiled inside me, the intense fear and pain I've experienced, now I understand that it was her, Sandor."

Shaking his head, Sandor rasps low in her ear. "How in seven hells do you explain such a thing?"

"I cannot tell you how; I only know it happened once before. It's as though my dread of Petyr recalled Nymeria's misery losing Lady and the alarm she felt when Arya chased her off. I shared her suffering then as did Arya and it is happening again now. Do you not recall how miserable I was on the King's Road after that day?"

"Aye love, you were sick with grief as I recall. Robert was worried, as was Jaime-he thought you might die from it, knowing the Starks have a connection to their direwolves."

"Nymeria sensed my anxiety with Petyr and responded-it drew her here. She will not hurt us, my love." Sansa places her hand over Sandor's heart, rubbing a small circle on his studded jerkin, willing him to share her feelings.

Sandor draws a deep breath and briefly closes his eyes. Focusing on slowing his breathing, Sandor struggles to calm himself and after a few moments he indeed feels something growing inside: a terrible, primal anger and yet he senses the origin of his emotion comes from outside his body. "Bloody hells Sansa," he mutters, placing his hand over hers and shaking his head in disbelief. "I do feel it… I feel her."

"Sandor, I know this is all very strange and difficult to accept. Please believe me; she has come to help us!"

"Alright then, let's go to her. Let's just pray we won't be ripped to shreds." Sandor says, drawing both swords. Without a word Sansa hurries on, the ferocious snarls growing louder the closer they get to the main entrance of the Eyrie.

When the couple rounds the bend, they notice Carrig and his men standing off to the side with swords at the ready, the men collectively shaking their heads in disbelief over the terrible sight before them.

Standing over the fallen horse is the enormous direwolf, full-grown and as large as a bear, her luxurious grey and white fur standing on end from haunches to tail and stained red around her snowy muzzle. Sandor draws back sharply, instinctively raising his arm protectively in front of Sansa.

"Nymeria!" she gasps at the sight of the enraged animal. The direwolf looks up, her huge jaws clamped down around Petyr's thigh and violently jerking her head to pull him out from under the dying pack-horse. Screaming, he flails his arms at her huge head, clumsily trying to stab at her with his jeweled short bladed knife.

Narrowing her yellow eyes, the animal pauses and dips her head low, cautiously sizing up the group before her. "Perhaps I should move away from you men," Sansa says softly, holding out her hands and moving slowly away from the others.

"Sansa, no! Fuck, don't do this!" Sandor growls low, reaching out to her.

"Stand beside me love. She knows you belong to me, I feel it." Walking slowly toward the ferocious creature, Sansa speaks softly. "Nymeria, do you remember me? Come here girl. I belonged to your sister Lady, just as you belong to my sister Arya."

Blinking rapidly, the animal slowly moves away from Petyr, seemingly transfixed by the sound of Sansa's voice. Warily she approaches the couple, raising her nose to smell the air. "Sandor, hold your hands out to her so she will see you mean her no harm."

"I doubt that bloody beast would fear the likes of me," Sandor grunts, fighting not to show his fear as the animal circles slowly, thoroughly sniffing him before moving on to Sansa.

Catching her familiar scent, the direwolf growls low, rubbing her flank against the young woman before dancing sideways, wagging her tail and whining low. Laughing, Sansa reaches out to her, wrapping her arms around the massive animal's neck and squeezing her close while Nymeria enthusiastically licks her face. "I knew you would recognize me, girl!"

The direwolf soon turns her attentions back to Sandor, wagging her tail and rubbing against him until he reaches out and scratches her chest, grinning at Sansa all the while. "She doesn't know she's no longer a cub," Sandor comments, his mouth quirking into a smile in spite of the terrible circumstances. "She doesn't seem so much different from a dog."

"Yeah, well I never saw a bloody dog kill a full-grown packhorse before, I tell you that," Carrig mutters, backing away. "That bitch felled that horse with one bite. If it's all the same to you Sandor, we'll just stay where we are."

"Sweetling, sweetling, help me. Get that beast away from me, do you hear me? I saved your life…I took you from King's Landing and brought you to safety. Have you so easily forgotten all I have done for you?" Petyr gasps out, still fighting to free himself from the horse.

At the sound of his voice a sharp fear pierces Sansa, sending a corresponding pain through Sandor and Nymeria sharply turns back to the injured man, positioning herself between Sansa and Petyr and snarling so fiercely Sandor feels the hair on the back of his neck rise.

"No! How dare you…you…you took advantage of my sorrow, my desperation…you would have forced yourself on me! The gods sent Sandor and Nymeria here to save me and I will not stop them from punishing you!" Sansa shouts, her voice quivering in a mixture of anger and fear.

Nymeria watches Sansa closely and then suddenly bounds toward Petyr, sinking her teeth into his shoulder and jerking him violently out from under the dead horse. Shrieking in agony, Petyr whimpers, "Sansa, you'll never make it without me, you're nothing without-"

At the sound of his voice Nymeria clamps down on his throat and drags him toward Sandor, reducing the man's words to a muffled scream. Dropping Petyr's limp form at his feet, Sandor watches in amazement as the direwolf noses him towards the body before lying down at Sansa's feet, slowly wagging her tail and watching him closely.

"She means for you to accept him as a gift of sorts," Sansa explains weakly, bending slightly to pat Nymeria on the head. "Greywind would offer Robb the rabbits he caught in the same way."

Sandor cautiously approaches the direwolf, holding out his hand and she responds by rising up and nuzzling him before lying in front of Sansa once more. Dragging Petyr over to a nearby rock, Sandor positions his body over the side.

"Lady Sansa, look away lass, you don't want to see this," Carrig says gently.

"No, no I will see the murderer of my father and aunt executed. It is the Stark way and I will honor my father by bearing witness to his death."

"Littlefucker, this is better than you deserve, you sick buggering bastard. Go to the seven hells knowing this is for Sansa, my wife," Sandor growls low, sharply bringing his greatsword down on Baelish's neck, removing his head with one stroke.

Sansa watches his blood pour out on the ground, staining the freshly fallen snow at her feet. Overwhelmed, the young woman feels as though a tremendous weight is removed from her shoulders. The agonizing pain, crippling fear and anxiety suddenly dissipate and Sansa slumps down into the snow as tears freely fall from her eyes in relief. "Sandor, I feel…I feel free…" She whispers in amazement when Sandor lifts her gently into his arms. "The pain, the fear…it is gone my love! Oh, I feel so much better now…I…"

"You're as weak as a lamb, lass. Let's get you back to my cabin," Carrig says, nodding at two of his men to bring another horse near.

"Can we not go back to the Eyrie? My cousin, my cousin needs to be buried," she chokes out, sobbing.

"Easy lass, we'll get him buried in the crypt. He'll keep in this cold, don't you worry none. We've got to rid the castle of Baelish's men. A man like him no doubt has his fair share of soldiers in the castle and Sandor will want to finish them before any escape."

"Go with the healer and Elder brother little bird. Listen to me now. I can handle these men," Sandor rasps low, kissing her hand.

"There are too many Sandor-Carrig is right about the soldiers. He brought in reinforcements just last night, the maid told me as she filled my bath. You men won't survive them, there are too many and…"

"My lady, it must be done. Otherwise one of those men will likely tell the queen of your whereabouts. All these men are all skilled in battle, not merely sellswords," Elder brother replies gently. "Come along with me now, and trust the Warrior to give Sandor the battle. Please, you must rest."

In the distance the sound of soldiers approaching echoes through the mountain pass. "An army? Gods…is it more of Petyr's sellswords?" Sansa gasps.

"No little bird. Sellswords don't march; more like its House Royce's men. I sent a raven day before last telling them of Petyr's treachery and of your captivity here. Elder brother included a sworn statement as to my innocence in the raping of the Saltpans and that Lady Brienne of Tarth executed Rorge, the real rapist and murderer."

"Oh, thank the gods! Did you receive a response from the Royces?" Sansa lets out a deep breath.

Elder brother smiles. "Yes, just before dawn. Baelish's…lady friend delivered it personally; Ros is her name. Baelish's man delivered it to their rooms. She did not tell him about it, though…she said she recognized Sandor but realizing he had come to rescue you, she kept our secret and brought the message to us instead."

Sansa raises her hands to her face in disbelief. "I cannot believe it! The entire time she knew Sandor had come to help me? Why would she keep such a secret from Petyr?"

"Little bird, Ros was there when Joffrey's men killed Robert's bastards, in fact some of them were infants she helped birth in Littlefinger's brothel. She knows you were good to Shae and kept her relationship with Tyrion a secret, and Shae told her how you prayed for the children in the sept during the massacre. She hasn't forgotten, and besides Littlefinger was hard on her."

"The gods remembered your kindness, Lady Sansa," Elder brother says calmly.

"I…I will never be able to thank them enough for all they have done for us," Sansa whispers.

"Stay true to what you know is right and the gods will help the both of you," Elder brother replies.

As the sounds of the soldiers draws closer to the Eyrie, Carrig and his men take positions inside the tree line, hidden from view. Nymeria perks up her ears and sniffs the air. Crawling low to the ground, the direwolf disappears into the dense shrubbery surrounding the path.

With Elder Brother aided by the healer, Sandor and Sansa move closer to the castle to await the Royce men in front of the Eyrie's massive outer gate. Soon a small retinue of soldiers comes into view, with Lord Yohn Royce's brilliant copper armor gleaming brightly in the afternoon sun.

"Bloody Bronze Yohn in the flesh," Sandor mutters as the large older man approaches with two other men in tow.

"Sandor Clegane, the Hound as was. I would know that scarred countenance anywhere," Lord Royce states flatly, carefully surveying him before turning to Sansa. "You must be Lady Sansa of House Stark, I would recognize that Tully red hair anywhere," he bows to her and Sansa smiles brightly, returning his gesture with a curtsey.

"Yes, Lord Royce, I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you. My father and uncle both thought very highly of you and your family. You honor the memory of my cousin Robert Arryn with your loyal service."

"Lady Stark, I am most pleased to meet Lord Eddard's eldest daughter. This is my son Ser Andar and my nephew Lord Nestor Royce. Our swords are yours," the intimidating man says while kneeling before her, his men quickly following suit.

"Arise my lords. I thank you for your loyal service to my uncle Jon Arryn and to his house. Please, I am in dire need of your help. The Lord Protector of the Vale Petyr Baelish has held me captive here for over a year, disguising me as his bastard daughter Alayne. He…he switched the medicines Maester Coleman used to treat my cousin Robert Arryn, the rightful Lord of the Eyrie with sweetsleep and he…poisoned him. He passed during the night and is awaiting burial. Petyr also threw my aunt Lady Lysa Arryn to her death out the Moon door. Please help me."

Frowning, Lord Royce grimly glances over at Nestor, who shakes his head and turns away. "Word reached us along the road here. My lady, I am truly sorry for your loss. This is most distressing news; I served House Arryn for years and considered Lord Jon Arryn a friend. His death was a great loss to Westeros and to lose him, Lady Lysa and young Robert is a grievous loss to the Vale."

"Thank you for your kind sentiments my lord."

"Where is Lord Baelish now? He must be brought to justice at once."

"Dead and burning in the seven hells as we speak," Sandor comments darkly. "His body is near the godswood. He's used a large band of sellswords to take over the castle."

"Lord Nestor, step forward man," Lord Royce commands. "My lady, this is my nephew Lord Nestor Royce, the High Steward of the Vale."

"Yes I am familiar with Lord Nestor," Sansa replies coldly, resting her hand on Sandor's arm. "In fact we have met once before. Lord Baelish bribed you with the promise of permanent possession of the keep in the Gates of the Moon to keep his secrets, is that not so?"

Lord Royce and Andar turn and glare at the man in question while Sandor flexes his grip on his greatsword, waiting. "Answer Lady Sansa, now."

"I would not call it a bribe, merely an agreement," Nestor begins.

"Are you calling my lady a liar?" Sandor rasps out, drawing his sword; Sansa steps forward and stills his hand.

"I was present for the conversation or have you forgotten? Perhaps you felt a young maiden would not understand the intricacies of the alliance you forged with Lord Baelish. You are much mistaken. I heard you at accept Lord Baelish's offer at my lord cousin's very table or do you deny it?

"Well, yes, Lord Baelish did make such an offer to me, once the War has ended," Nestor stutters out.

Lord Royce sighs deeply and motions for his son Andar to come forward. "My Lady, I will deal with these matters personally, you have my word as head of House Royce. With your approval I will lead my men into the Eyrie and free the castle of Baelish's men."

"Yes, Lord Royce that is exactly what I wish," Sansa states, faltering slightly; Sandor reaches around her waist to steady her.

"Clegane, you have no right to touch Lord Stark's daughter in such a familiar way," Lord Yohn barks out, stepping forward.

"You are much mistaken," Sansa replies evenly, placing her hands over his arm. "Sandor Clegane is my husband, Lord Royce. We were wedded before the gods by the Elder brother here in the godswood without Lord Baelish's knowledge."

"Indeed Lord Royce, she speaks truly. I performed the wedding myself," Elder brother affirms.

"I see," Lord Royce sniffs. "Clegane is certainly beneath your station my lady and without your family to guide you I see you made a rather reckless choice for yourself."

"No, indeed for we are bonded by the gods Lord Royce. I do not expect you to understand and I have no interest in discussing this further now. I trust this does not change your loyalties to Houses Stark and Arryn."

Lord Royce sighs. "No my lady, of course not, forgive me for speaking out of turn. I confess I had hoped to make a marriage alliance between our families, Lady Sansa."

Sandor snorts derisively in response while Sansa merely nods coolly, holding her head high. "Yes, well, be that as it may, my lord, it is quite impossible now. I must insist my husband be treated with the same honor you have afforded the rest of my family."

"Yes, my lady," Lord Royce bows. "Are you alright Lady Sansa?" He asks, noticing her thin frame and pale pallor.

"I am afraid I am most unwell after such an ordeal and I have been deeply grieving my family. I'm sure you have heard what has befallen my lady mother and brothers." Lord Royce nods solemnly.

"My lord, I wish to move to a nearby cabin while this matter is handled, if it pleases you. I must rest. Please see to my cousin's body as well," Sansa replies, gesturing toward the horse.

"Of course, my lady. Please, allow my men to escort you there."

"That will not be necessary my lord. The man who owns the cabin is of the Stone Crow clan and is a good friend to my husband and me. I would have him take me there, along with Elder brother."

At Sansa's words Carrig and his men show themselves, startling the retinue of soldiers. "It would be my pleasure, Lady Sansa," Carrig bows and then motions for the healer to bring Elder brother near.

"What of Clegane, my lady?" Ser Andar asks quietly. "If it pleases my lords, I wish him to join you men representing House Stark as my husband. Sandor is experienced in battle and knows Lord Baelish's men as well as the layout of the castle. Is that agreeable to you?"

"Yes, we know he was once in the service of Joffrey Baratheon."

"That was long ago and he left their service," Sansa says coolly. The men glance at each other and quickly assent.

"Also, there is a woman inside; Ros is her name. Please see that no harm comes to her, she has assisted us greatly and I wish to reward her."

"Yes my lady, no harm will befall her, I give you my word," Ser Andar bows and then turns to his father.

"Lady Sansa, I would see you safe at the cabin before we take the castle. I will have my men surround the Eyrie and secure its perimeter while your husband sees you off," Lord Royce states, taking her small hand in his. "I could not rest easy otherwise."

"That is most kind of you, Lord Royce," Sansa smiles, patting his hand gently.

"Take care of your lady wife, Clegane. We will be ready by the time you return," Lord Royce nods before turning back to his men.

Within the hour the small group reaches Carrig's cabin, where Sandor helps the healer get Elder brother settled before carefully placing Sansa on the bed, tucking her under the furs. "I'll return shortly Sansa. By the time the sun sets this will be over, believe that."

Gently cupping his cheek, Sansa covers his mouth in a slow, deep kiss. "I'll pray for your success and safety my love. I will pray for you as I did the night of the Blackwater battle."

Swallowing hard, Sandor chokes back his emotion as he bends down to kiss her once more. "You do that, little bird."

"You will return to me, I know it," Sansa whispers, tenderly stroking his face.

"The Warrior himself couldn't keep me away from you, then or now." Sandor winks at her before quickly mounting the horse and returning to the Eyrie.


	21. The Battle for the Eyrie

Riding back to the Eyrie alongside the Stone Crows, Sandor allows his mind to drift back to his beloved Sansa. Though she is several miles away, he feels her presence as though she is right beside him. Through their mystical and powerful connection he experiences the little bird’s emotions, her newfound relief, happiness and peace resonating through the man’s heart.

When he said goodbye to her, she was resting in Carrig’s cabin with Nymeria dozing at her feet. The drawn look of agony had disappeared from her beautiful face and a warm rosy glow was returning to her cheeks before his eyes. She looked exquisite nestled under the furs, her lips curling into the special smile she reserves only for him as she waved goodbye.

He is confident she will be able to heal both mentally and physically now that she is no longer threatened by Littlefinger. Through the bond, Sandor still feels Sansa is inextricably a part of him, her thoughts and feelings rooted into his soul. From the moment his blade met the flesh of Baelish’s neck, Sandor experienced a tremendous release of both emotional and physical pain. The intense tension and anxiety he suffered since dreaming of Sansa at the sept instantly disappeared, and with it the searing agony in his stomach that plagued him even as he despaired for Sansa’s well-being.

Sensing his wife is free of her misery, Sandor wonders if the end of her suffering signals the partial fulfillment of the bond. The idea strengthens his resolve to rid the Eyrie of Baelish’s men, longing to bring the matter to an end once and for all. _I will erase any trace of Littlefucker in the Eyrie and the Seven save any man who dares stand in my way_ , he swears ominously, mentally preparing himself for the battle ahead.

Where once he felt restrained by the bond, fearing his wrath might somehow damage Sansa’s fragile health, now he feels liberated, able to give full vent to the Hound. The vicious, bloodthirsty side of his personality that lived only for revenge against his brother no longer consumes him. Now rid of his bitter rage, Sandor controls the Hound and uses his formidable battle skill solely for the protection of his wife, driving him to do all he can to assure her safety.

Hastening to the castle gates, the men hear the clashing of steel, shouting and the pitiful cries of the wounded echoing through the mountain pass. “Arm yourselves, men. The battle is already underway, Clegane,” Carrig shouts, drawing his sword. Sandor and the Stone Crows jump into the fray, slashing their way through the sellswords as they slowly advance on the entrance of the Eyrie.

“Remember lads, don’t hurt the servants or the woman Sansa described,” Sandor growls through gritted teeth, shoving a man aside before running him through with his greatsword. Bound as he is to Sansa, Sandor views each man as a danger to her well-being, an enemy to be disposed of as quickly as possible in his merciless onslaught of the castle.

Upon hearing the Hound is alive and waging war against them with the Royces, many of the mercenaries give up and flee, only to be caught and executed by the Stone Crows waiting along the perimeter of the castle walls. Fighting their way toward Bronze Yohn, Sandor joins the Stone Crows and the Royce men on the battering ram, laboring to breach the massive weirwood doors of the castle. After much struggle the doors finally give way and the men rush inside, only to be met by a second wave of sellswords in the Crescent Chamber.

The fighting is brutal and over as quickly as it begins, the initial battle giving way to a bloody game of cat and mouse inside the cavernous alcoves and inner passageways of the castle. The Royce men go from room to room in search of hidden sellswords, thus meticulously ridding the Eyrie of all remnants Baelish’s hired army. By nightfall the battle is over and Bronze Yohn’s men declare victory. During a regrouping in the High Hall of the Arryns, Lord Royce assigns small groups of soldiers to execute the surviving sellswords while others are charged with ridding the castle of any signs of bloodshed and disposing of the dead.

Slowly the hall is filled with the servants, maids, cooks and other assorted workers serving the castle, brought out of hiding by the Royce men. Puzzled, Sandor glances around. “Have any of you men seen the woman my wife told you about?”

“The only women we found are servants and Baelish’s whore,” Nestor Royce calls out. “I doubt Lady Sansa meant her, for all her good will.”

“Fuck what you think. The woman you found is one and the same and she will be kept safe, along with the rest of the women. I will not tolerate any bloody rapists in my wife’s family seat. Bring her to me,” Sandor swears, shaking his head.

“None of you men abuse the women here, understand?” Bronze Yohn reiterates loudly, silencing the reverie of the soldiers. “The Lady Sansa Clegane wishes them kept from harm. Need I remind you she is Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell’s daughter and first cousin to the deceased Lord Robert Arryn? You men _will_   obey her or stand guilty of treason.”

Carrig comes forward, tugging on a frightened Ros’ arm, leading her through the assembled soldiers toward Sandor and Lord Royce. “Come on lass; no one will hurt you. Clegane’s lady wife commanded you be kept safe and these men answer to her. There’s the man now.”

“Sandor Clegane, as I live and breathe,” Ros begins, cautiously observing the men around her while she nervously fidgets with the layered skirts of her gown. “I knew I recognized you, despite those holy robes you were wearing the day you and Elder brother came to us.”

Snorting, Sandor nods. “I figured you might at that.”

“I just knew if you were alive you would come for her. So, you managed to court and marry Lady Sansa right under Littlefinger’s nose, huh? Good on you, man.”

“Aye that I did. How would you of all people know I would come for her?” Sandor frowns at her, his curiosity piqued by her words.

“My livelihood depends on my ability to read men, you know. Once I saw the way you looked at her in King’s Landing, it didn’t take long for me to realize why you favored me over the other girls in the brothel. It was because my red hair and fair skin reminded you of her and I used such to keep you coming back to me. You’re not the toughest man to figure out, though a hardened killer to be sure.”

Scowling, Sandor notices the men glance at him interestedly, though no one as much as dares snicker at her words. “Bugger your tricks of the trade, wench. You speak right; once I was a hardened killer but no longer, though make no mistake: it’s easy enough to recall the Hound if need be. You best keep that in mind before you run your mouth off again.”

Grinning, Ros nods in assent. “Have it your way, Hound. I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of the men.”

“Bugger that, and enough with the chat. Sansa holds no ill will to you, no matter that you lived her with her captor and did your business in her cousin’s ancestral home.” Taking a deep breath to still his anger, he continues. “For delivering the raven to Elder brother and keeping my identity secret, my wife and I owe you a debt of gratitude. To that end, Sansa wishes you kept safe and offers the chance to start over once you leave this place.”

“Lady Sansa is a proper lady and a kind one, too. No matter what you may think of me, I’d not see the child hurt by Littlefinger. She prayed for us, you know. For all of Littlefinger’s brothel girls, when King Robert’s bastards were killed. No lady has ever done that for me. She was always kind to me here and I’ll not forget it.”

Grunting, Sandor nods. “My wife has a generous heart, one I suggest you not try to take advantage of at that. She desires me to say you are free to go or you may stay here until your arrangements are made to go elsewhere. I would ask that if you want to keep on my good side you not return to King’s Landing. Braavos or Drone would be a better turn, and one that is not open for discussion, understand?”

Relief spreads across her face and Ros takes a deep breath. “I believe I will be able to start a fairly good business in Dorne, I know people there. I’ll buy passage as soon as I’m free to do so and be out of your way.”

“See that you do. One of Royce’s men will see you keep your word. You’ll not speak of us to anyone, understand? If I so much as hear a whisper of anything that has transpired here I will hunt you down, believe that. Once all is settled you take what you’re owed from Littlefinger’s coin and if you mind yourself my wife and I will see the amount added to as well.

“Alright, then. You have a deal, Clegane.”

Narrowing his eyes, Sandor steps forward and pinches her chin with his mailed fingers. “You will not patronize the men while you are a guest here, got it?”

Smirking, Ros grins at him. “I understand. Don’t worry, Clegane, I won’t shame your lady wife’s house.”

“You'd better not, if you know what’s good for you. If I catch you fucking any one of these soldiers, I’ll toss you out myself and the seven hells with our agreement. Same goes for you men. You leave her and the rest of the women alone or I’ll kill you myself.” Focusing on each of the soldiers, Sandor menacingly glowers at each of them before returning his attention to Ros. “You abide my wishes and you’ll have no trouble.”

“Lady Sansa has been kind to me. I won’t shame your wife. I swear it.” She smiles coyly at him, twisting one of her curls around her finger.

“Your word don’t hold much with me, woman. I’ve seen you work, remember? Paid for it, too. You can thank my wife when you see her,” Sandor growls low before gesturing for the soldiers to return her to her rooms.

Once Ros and the servants are gone, Bronze Yohn allows the somewhat subdued celebration to begin, the men keeping a respectful tone due to the loss of young Robert. “You men, enjoy Baelish’s best. You earned it.” Shouting and praising their conquering lord they eagerly helping themselves to Baelish’s stock of Dornish red, honeyed ale and rich delicacies.

“Have a drink with us, Clegane?” Lord Royce asks, handing him a goblet of honeyed ale.

“No, I must return to my wife,” Sandor rasps low. “The Eyrie is under your control now, Lord Royce. You do as you see fit.”

“Be that as it may, I would have your wife sit in counsel with me tomorrow after the noon meal, if she is well enough. There is much to discuss and afterward I will see to it Lord Robert Arryn is laid to rest. The maester is preparing the boy as we speak.”

“I’ll let her know. I’ll send word if she is unwell tomorrow morning, ” Sandor grunts, turning to leave. “You let these Stone Crows eat and drink their fill, you hear? If not for them my wife would not have survived. Chief Carrig allowing us the use of his cabin saved her life and his men came to our aid in the godswood. See that you don’t forget it.”

Lord Royce grins knowingly. “Of course, Clegane. They earned their bounty the same as my men, and fought along with us as brave as any men I’ve commanded. Go see to your wife.”

* * *

Sandor saddles Stranger and hurries back to Sansa as nightfall reaches the Vale. Leading the mighty warhorse through the switchbacks on foot, Sandor eases his way along the hidden path for an hour before the well-lit cabin comes into view. As he ties the horse to a nearby tree, Sandor is suddenly hit with the weight of his beautiful little bird, laughing and clinging to him, covering every area she is able to reach with kisses.

“What are you doing out in this bloody cold? You should be under the furs,” he growls, his burned face twitching into a grin at the sight of her.

“I sensed you were coming and I just had to come out and meet you. You are well enough, I hope? I felt no injury come to you.” Sansa says, eagerly looking him over for wounds.

“I am more than well, wife,” he smiles down at her. "Where is that bloody direwolf?"

“She went out hunting at dusk. Come, my love, Elder brother is just about to go back to the Vale,” she beams up at him, hugging his large arm close to her chest. Out in front of Carrig’s cabin, Sandor watches as two Stone Crows lift Elder brother on to their pack horse.

Whistling low, Sandor approaches the animal, patting the holy man on the leg. “Seven hells, Elder brother, where do you think you’re going? You were run through just a few hours ago. Do you believe it is safe for you to ride just yet?”

“I’m in no need of your healthful suggestions, Sandor; I am the healer, remember? Besides, the throbbing in my chest is doing a well enough job of keeping me aware of my limitations at present.”

“You want me to take you back to the Eyrie? I’d rather do it myself, no slight against the men.”

“Please, stay here and attend to your wife, Sandor. I am quite all right, no fever or sign of infection, there’s just a matter of the pain,” Elder brother smiles wanly. “It is no more than I expected, and I’ve suffered much worse in my day.”

Grunting, Sandor nods at the holy man while Elder brother looks him over. “So I take it your endeavor was successful? Lady Sansa sensed you were most pleased and had not suffered injury.”

Glancing at Sansa, Sandor nods. “Yes, Baelish’s men are gone. Lord Royce’s men are, uh, celebrating a bit as well as cleaning up the remains of the battle.” He is unwilling to say openly there are many dead and dying sellswords still about the Eyrie in front of Sansa.

Elder brother nods knowingly. “Yes, I imagine there is quite a bit that needs finishing up. I must return to the Eyrie for supplies as well as tend to the spiritual needs of the boy. Is the maester still at the castle?”

“Yes, Lord Royce said Maester Coleman was tending young Robert as I left. Are you sure you don’t want me to take you back?” Sandor asks with a note of alarm.

“No son; I am only in need of some milk of the poppy, some fresh bandages and a soft bed. I trust you will not be taking Lady Sansa back there this evening?” Elder brother asks suggestively. Not wanting to alarm her about the bloody state of the castle, Sandor watches Sansa expectantly, allowing her response before offering his own suggestion.

“No, Elder brother, I do not wish to go back there just yet. I am sure Lord Royce will let me know when he is ready to receive me at the Eyrie.”

Relieved, Sandor pulls her close to him. “Aye, love, you have the right of it. He wishes to conference with you tomorrow afternoon before the interment of your cousin, if you are feeling well enough. Lord Royce still needs time to…prepare for your return.”

“Sandor, Elder brother, remember my father, uncle and brothers were men of battle. Though I was raised sheltered to some extent I understand your concerns, though I appreciate the delicacy in which the two of you discuss such matters in front of me,” Sansa smiles, her eyes twinkling. “Rest assured, I will not travel there until all is secure and please, do not hesitate to return to us should you require anything further."

“I will, Lady Sansa. Get some rest, the both of you,” the man responds before leading the horse and Elder brother back on to the trail. “I’ll see you on the morrow,” Elder brother calls out from the darkness, the sound of hooves fading into the night.

Watching the men ride away, Sansa feels her husband’s desire for her coursing through his body, flooding her senses. “I prayed for you,” she smiles, leading him by the hand inside. Scooping his little wife into his arms, Sandor carries her over the threshold. “I felt you as I traveled here,” he whispers in her ear, kissing her softly.

“As I felt you; I knew you were unharmed and…I felt your eagerness to return. I put together a modest dinner for us,” Sansa blushes, motioning to the small table. “It is perfect, Little bird,” Sandor says, and means it.

“I have hot water ready for you as well, should you wish to clean up,” Sansa gestures over to the screened area beside the bed. “Aye, I’ll do that,” he grins wickedly at her, removing his armor and tunic while watching her blush an even deeper shade of red. ”Why so shy, my lovely Little bird?” He laughs while lathering his hands and face.

Sansa remains quiet for a few moments, gathering her thoughts. “I’m just so overwhelmed, being here with you again. I… I cannot help but think of how we were here a few days ago, how relieved I was to see you alive and well. Our situation is so different now…so much has happened.”

Drying his hair and chest, Sandor nods gravely. “I know, love. We are now wed, joined in body as well as soul. It eases my mind, looking at you now and seeing so much improvement in your demeanor.” Moving next to her, Sandor gently traces the back of his hand along her cheek before slowly running his thumb over her lower lip. “By the Seven, you’re a beauty and being with you is better than I ever hoped to have in life.”

Turning her back to him, Sansa pulls her hair over her shoulder. “Unlace me, my love,” Sansa whispers, glancing back at him, a small smile playing across her face as he frees her from her gown. “Come, I wish to hold you in my arms as I did after you found me,” she beckons, climbing under the furs in only her bottom smallclothes. Sandor swiftly removes the rest of his clothing and joins her, gathering her close in his arms.

Slowly Sansa caresses his face, mapping each feature with her soft fingertips as she speaks. “I was so distraught…I could hardly believe you were with me and there was much I wanted to say to you. It felt like a dream, though through our connection I knew it was real.” Overwhelmed by emotion, Sandor remains quiet as he sees tears welling in her lovely eyes.

“For so long I prayed for you, begging the gods to return you to me. I could not bear to think you had died, that you would never know how much I love you.” Looking into her lovely blue eyes, Sandor nods, gently running his thumb along her jaw line. “I sat by the Heart tree every day, mourning you…you left a terrible emptiness in my heart. The gods knew I could not live without you. Your return is the answer to my prayers, my love,” she whispers, tenderly kissing both sides of his face before nuzzling into his beard.

Hearing the little bird give voice to her grief, her love and passion for him touches his very soul. Unable to speak, Sandor buries his face in her neck, softly kissing the curve of her neck and shoulder while running his hands over her back and hips in soothing circles. “Shh no more of that, Little bird. Those times are over, for both of us. We are man and wife now, and I’ll do my damnedest to make sure you never again suffer such misery the rest of your days,” he manages after several long moments.

The feel of his muscular arms surrounding her as she relates her experience at once fills her with desire for him and soothes the raw pain of her emotional state. Trailing her fingers along the muscular ridges of his back, Sansa sighs contentedly at the sensual feel of Sandor’s warm skin against her own, the hardness of his arousal pressing urgently against her woman’s place. “My love, I dreamed of you and I like this so many times…my body and heart both ached for you, your touch and your lovemaking,” she whispers, wriggling out of her smallclothes before easing his own down his hips, freeing his manhood.

Making her way down his body, Sansa kisses each scar marking his chest and stomach, tasting each one until she reaches his scarred hip, carefully running her hands over the puckered red flesh. “Your body will only know pleasure with me all the days of your life,” she murmurs against him, gently running her tongue over the area. “Who did this to you? I hope they suffered for their cruelty,” Sansa comments, rubbing her cheek against the warm soft skin of his muscular thigh.

“I got that in a fight when I had your sister with me. I killed the bastard who dealt it. I could not take care of it proper and so it got infected. I nearly died; that is how I ended up on the Quiet Isle. Elder brother cut out the infection and tended me.”

“Thank the gods,” she purrs against his skin, delicately caressing his body before taking him in hand and slowly running her tongue over the tip of his manhood. Gasping, Sandor fists her hair as she moves to take him deeper into her mouth. “I’ve longed to give you such kisses, my love. Allow me this.” Many times in the Eyrie she had dreamed of loving him in such an intimate manner and experiencing Sandor physically in this way fulfills her body as well as her heart.

Relenting, Sandor relaxes his hold even as he feels her take him completely into her mouth for the first time. “My love, my beautiful little bird,” he rasps low, panting with anticipation. Drawing him deep into her lush mouth once more Sansa begins tasting and suckling him tenderly, her beloved husband writhing and moaning with abandon in response to her ministrations. Feeling his thigh muscles tensing, Sansa stills her movements, gently releases him from her mouth and then moves to straddle his lap.

With a deep moan Sandor draws her up into a sitting position with him and heatedly kisses her throat and neck, nibbling and tasting along her collarbone before taking her breast into his mouth. The feeling of his wet tongue circling her nipple elicits a long moan from Sansa, and steadying herself over his hips, she slowly sheathes his manhood inside her warm wet center. “Sansa, oh gods woman you feel good,” Sandor manages to choke out as he thrusts deeper into her while she reaches back to rest her hands on his thighs, arching against each movement of his hips.

“Oh, yes, my love,” Sansa gasps out, rocking her hips in time with is thrusts. Growling low, Sandor pulls away from her and turns her on her side, causing Sansa to whimper out in frustration. “I want to love you in a different way. Draw up your knees, Sansa,” he rasps, his breath hot against her ear, thrusting deep inside of her as she does so.

“Please Sandor, more,” Sansa sobs out, the new position allowing his manhood to massage a sensitive place deep inside of her with each thrust, sending waves of pleasure surging through her body. Sandor speeds up his movements in response, desperately driving his manhood into her with abandon. Suddenly his thrusting become erratic as Sansa’s muscles tightly grip his throbbing member, bringing each an exquisitely powerful release. Their love cries echo throughout the small cabin and Sandor slows his movements, allowing Sansa to ride out her peak as he gradually comes down from his own.

Shifting, Sandor moves her to rest on top of him, savoring the feel of her supple body against his own, unwilling to withdraw from her warmth just yet. He has never known such fervent love and affection, and Sansa’s passionate lovemaking fulfills him in ways he never knew possible. Resting in each other’s arms, the couple feels the bond growing ever stronger between them, uniting them in heart even as their bodies are intimately joined together.

“I love you, Sansa, my beloved wife,” Sandor whispers into her hair, languidly stroking her back, relishing the feel of her soft curves under his hands. Cuddling into his embrace, Sansa gently circles patterns on his chest. “As I love you, Sandor. You complete me, body and soul. I am so grateful our bond unites us in such a deeply intimate, powerful way. I hope it will always be thus between us.”

“From your mouth to the god’s ears, lass,” he whispers before tenderly kissing her, the man feeling his arousal suddenly surge once more. “I mean to take you again, wife,” he groans against her shoulder before leisurely sucking on the tender flesh of her neck, her pulse fluttering madly against his lips.

“Yes, as many times as you wish my love. We have the whole night ahead of us,” Sansa murmurs into his hair as she wraps her legs around his waist, drawing his hardened manhood against her woman’s place once more.

Sandor and Sansa indulgently spend the rest of the night alternate between making love and sleeping just as they did on their wedded night, taking full advantage of the peace and solitude the cabin affords them. “I cannot live without you,” Sandor whispers as he watches the early morning light filter in through the curtains. Sleeping peacefully on his stomach, Sansa only snuggles down further against him in response to the sound of his voice. “No matter what the future holds or what Lord Royce plans for the Eyrie, the Warrior himself could not separate us. I will not allow it, my love. Never again.”

The rumbling of his rasping voice awakens Sansa in time to hear his whispered declaration. Curling her hand around his neck, she gently draws his mouth down to hers and covers his lips in a long, slow kiss. “I will never allow it either, my love.”

“Lord Royce will make you an offer to rule the Vale I believe, in hopes it will allow you to retake Winterfell. Is that what you wish for, Sansa?” Sandor asks, propping himself up on one elbow to look at her.

“The gods will return Winterfell to my family, just as they returned you to me. When the time comes, they will see my family restored to our ancestral home, of that I am certain, and I need you beside me when that time comes.” Cupping his cheek, Sansa gazes into his eyes, noting the uncertainty she sees there. “Petyr taught me a few very bitter yet important lessons about power, Sandor, ones I will not easily forget. I care not for the plans of men or for the dominance they strive after, oblivious to the lives they destroy in the process.” Sighing, she pauses a moment, trying to gauge his response to her words.

“My father went against his better judgement and chose duty over his family. He paid a terrible price for not listening to his heart. I will not shirk my duty but neither will I sacrifice my loved ones or our happiness as a family. The price is far too high to even consider. Truth be told, I do not desire to rule and even if I did, knowing them as I do I sincerely doubt the lords of the north would accept a woman ruling over them. Sandor, I will never allow my family to experience what I have suffered, you must believe that.”

“Aye, I believe you wife, I feel the truth of your words inside,” Sandor rasps low, snuggling her tightly against his chest once more. “We’ll know more of the lord’s plans once you sit in counsel with old Bronze Yohn and his sons.”

“We will sit in counsel with him _together_ , my love. I would not think of meeting them without you beside me and I will not allow them to dictate who is present for our meeting out of some antiquated sense of formality.”

“The wolf is returning stronger than ever in you, wife,” Sandor grins before passionately kissing her, his heated caresses leaving no doubt in Sansa’s mind that, as far as her husband is concerned, the subject of who will rule the Vale is closed for now.


	22. Uncovering the Endgame and A Clue to the Bond

"Sandor, you must stop…I don't think we can delay any longer," Sansa giggles as Sandor pulls her on top of him once more, eagerly kissing the tender skin behind her ear. "I fear we already keep Lord Royce waiting for us as it is. We must make haste."

"Bugger him and bugger his council meeting, Little bird. I bloody well haven't been able to properly enjoy my honeymoon and any man who tries to pull you away from me now is as good as dead," he growls ferociously in her ear, nipping her neck and bringing more laughter from Sansa.

"Come my love, we must get ready now. There is still the matter of my cousin," she says more seriously, the sadness tingeing her voice stopping her amorous husband in his tracks. Promptly he lets her go and sets her beside him. "Aye, we'll put the poor lad to rest with his kin. Forgive me," he mutters, filling the wash pot with water and setting in on the fire.

"Do not apologize; I wish for our privacy as well my love. It is so very difficult…to pull away from you," she says softly, her cheeks flushing pink. "All I want is to be closer to you, to feel you in my arms. Our bond draws me to you…I crave being with you. When we are physically apart…"

"There is a profound emptiness inside." Sandor finishes, pulling her close once more. "It is difficult, indeed."

"Yes and our…coupling only makes me long for such intimacies with you all the more," Sansa says low, now blushing furiously.

Grinning at her, Sandor laughs, the sound sharp and yet somehow joyous. "You needn't look so guilty about it, Little bird. We _are_ married, after all."

"Yes, I know, I was taught that the marriage bed was just another wifely duty," she smiles shyly at him, reddening even further at her daring words. "That a lady considers it as such and nothing more. I must admit, it doesn't feel like a duty, though."

"No? Tell me what it feels like, then," Sandor's eyes blaze with ill-concealed desire as he stares down at her blushing in his arms.

"It feels…wonderful," she whispers, burying her face in his chest, causing Sandor to throw his head back and laugh long and hard. "Like I am home, at last. It is the truest feeling I have ever known."

Sandor chokes up at her words and clutches her tightly against his chest. "I feel that, too," he rasps into the crown of her hair while Sansa rubs soothing circles over his heart.

"I think the gods must mean for it to be thus between husband and wife."

"Aye that they do, love. We'll have our privacy one day, you best believe that and gods save the man who interrupts us," he whispers into her ear before kissing her cheek, his hot breath against her skin bringing tingles of pleasure through Sansa. "Now get away from me woman or we'll never get to the castle."

"I have nothing clean to wear. Everything happened so suddenly I did not get a chance to grab the bag I keep at the ready," she groans and hears Sandor's rasping laughter outside.

Grinning, Sandor closes the door of the cabin, bag in hand. "I remembered it, love. I saw it in your room yesterday morning as we bathed. When Lord Royce said he wanted a meeting with you I thought to bring it."

"You are too good to me, husband!" She smiles brightly at him, a radiant glow illuminating her face. Sansa looks thoroughly contented and relaxed, to Sandor's great relief, and his heart swells with love for her. "Not good enough at that, wife. Having you as my own is better than I ever thought I'd have in this life."

After she bathes and washes her hair, Sandor follows suit, while Sansa carefully arranges her hair in the northern style. Wanting to evoke her lady mother on this occasion, she parts it down the middle, rolling up the front on either side while the leaving the rest hang loose to her waist.

When she turns toward her husband, she notices he is watching her with a hungry gleam in his eyes. "Seven hells, you get prettier every day," he growls, causing her to laugh. "My love, would you lace me up?" Sansa asks, smiling over her shoulder at him.

"I'll do my best, though I can't say how good it will turn out with a dog dressing you," he mutters, kissing along her spine before fumbling with the intricate lacing. After several attempts and much cursing, he finally steps away, carefully surveying his handiwork. "Good enough."

"Thank you. Is there anything I can help you with?" She asks innocently, pretending not to notice the wolfish grin that spreads across his face.

"Nothing that will help us out of this damned cabin. Come on now if we're going," he grouses, the twinkle in his eyes belying his gruff tone. Sandor places Sansa on Stranger's back and leads her along the narrow path, where soon they are joined by Nymeria. Upon seeing them, the enormous direwolf jumps and barks and then rolls in the dirt in front of Stranger. Sandor cannot help but think she looks like an overgrown pup, save for her snow white muzzle stained red by a fresh kill.

"She wants us to show us her catch," Sandor comments and Sansa smiles in response. "That will have to wait. Come girl, we are going to the castle, come on now," Sansa calls out, patting her thigh. Nymeria bounds alongside them and falls into Stranger's gait, much to the alarm of the normally ferocious war horse.

"Do you think it's wise to bring her to the Eyrie?" Sandor asks, watching the direwolf sniff along the trail ahead of them, occasionally growling at various finds.

"Nymeria is a creature of the north, every bit as much as I am and she has lost her family and her home as well. Her place is with me; she will stand beside me in Arya's stead. She will keep us safe and the Royce men on their best behavior," Sansa winks at Sandor, her eyes sparkling. "Bloody hells," Sandor swears under his breath. "The bitch will end up eating half those buggering lords, more like." Sansa nods, bending down to ruffle Nymeria's fur. "We will leave the outcome up to the Royces. Let us hope they choose wisely, for all our sakes."

* * *

As the slowly make their way toward the castle, Sandor feels Sansa stiffening in the saddle in front of him, her jittery anticipation creating butterflies in his own stomach in response. Nymeria begins whining at her feet, nuzzling her leg and startling Stranger as a result of her attentions.

"Talk to me, wife. What troubles you?" He asks quietly. Riding behind her in the saddle on the broad lane into the Eyrie, Sandor gently squeezes Sansa close to him while his large hand softly rubs her midsection under the furs.

"I am only anxious for this to be over. After what I have endured I cannot help but be suspicious about the motives of Lord Royce and his sons, for all their bending the knee," Sansa muses. "It is true, they fought valiantly to free the Eyrie, but to what end?"

"I agree, lass, there is something underhanded going on."

Turning back to look at him, Sansa eyes grow large at his words. "Sandor, you feel it too? What do you suppose it is?"

"I can't put my finger on it just yet," he pauses, gathering his thoughts. Hearing the men speaking in the High Hall of the Arryns the night before, a cold shiver descended upon him, though the room itself was quite warm. Andar Royce mentioned Lady Stoneheart and her knight, Brienne. Seven Hells, she'd better not bring that undead wench here…

"After the battle I overheard Andar Royce talking about Lady Brienne and her liege lady-your mother, as was. What do you make of that? Lady Stoneheart has no dealings here."

Frowning, Sansa shakes her head. "I do not know but I want nothing to do with that…creature. She is not my mother; she is an abomination wrought by that horrible Beric Dondarrion that burned you so. If the gods are merciful she will be put to rest; I have prayed to my father that he will see to her. Whatever they are up to, we will find out soon enough, I believe," she says softly, nodding toward the men guarding the massive gates of the Eyrie. Grunting, Sandor spurs Stranger onward, just as eager as his wife to uncover the motivations of the Royces.

As the couple rides through the immense entryway, the Royce sentries step aside for the enormous direwolf, walking several yards ahead of them, growling low and bluff charging any man deemed too close. Sansa is surprised to find that for the first time since reaching the Vale, she feels no dread, no fear, no despair as the castle comes into view; in fact, she feels only the comfort of Sandor's strong arms wrapped protectively around her. The realization fills the young woman with relief and she snuggles back against her husband affectionately.

"It'll be alright, Sansa," he whispers to her. "Remember what I said, I'll take you away any time; you have only to say the word and we're gone."

"Thank you my love," she says, kissing his cheek. Deep down Sansa wishes they could ride out of the Eyrie and never look back. She has had enough of the intrigue and backstabbing, the lies and ulterior motives disguised as loyalty and honor. As they cantor through the gates, Sansa sets her shoulders, determined that she will be the one in control of her destiny, no matter what the others have in mind.

Lord Royce is there to greet them, along with his sons. Sansa notices that Nestor Royce is conspicuously absent. Carrig and his men are there as well, and after exchanging pleasantries with her host, Sansa warmly greets the Stone Crow chief in front of all, much to the old man's delight. "My dearest Carrig, I cannot thank you enough for once again providing your cabin as well as your healer for our beloved friend," Sansa beams at him, taking his hands into hers.

"My pleasure, lass. It does my heart good to see the color back in your cheeks."

"You are too kind to us," she smiles, taking Sandor by the hand and patting her hip for Nymeria to follow. Lord Royce looks as though he wants to protest the beast's presence but remains quiet, motioning for his men to lead the couple into the High Hall of the Arryns.

"Please my lord, allow me to see to my cousin's arrangements, and my husband simply must check Elder brother as well. Would you allow us this before we speak?"

"Certainly, my lady. This way," Lord Royce leads Sansa and Sandor to Maester Coleman's rooms. After spending a few moments in prayer over her cousin, Sansa drapes a silk banner embroidered with the Arryn's sigil over the weirwood casket. "Now you are with the rest of our family, Sweetrobin. I will miss you. I will pray for you until we are together again."

Sandor gently leads her away and the two eagerly make their way to Elder brother. He is up and sitting beside the window, being attended to by Baelish's former valet, Rafe. "You are looking well this morning, Elder brother," Sansa smiles, handing him a soft fur blanket. "I was thinking the very same thing about you, child," the holy man replies.

"We're off to meet with Lord Royce and cannot stay," Sandor says, sitting on the foot of the bed. "We wanted to see you first, make sure you are alright."

"I am fine, Sandor, just fine. Allow me to say a blessing over the two of you before you leave," he says, making the sign of the Seven over them. "Many thanks," Sandor nods. "We'll come back after. Will you feel up to going to the funeral?" Sansa asks.

"Of course, I would not miss performing the sacred rights for him; the boy needs a proper ceremony and I will not shirk my responsibility over a simple flesh wound."

"Thank you," Sansa whispers, kissing his hand before following Sandor out of the room.

"Sandor and Lady Clegane, won't you sit down?" Lord Royce gestures to two empty chairs across from him, wrinkling his brow at the sight of Sandor sitting down beside his wife. "My lady, it is most unusual to have a man of such humble origins sit in council with families such as ours."

"Lord Royce, if I understand you, I believe you mean to say it is beneath your house to discuss your plans in front of a man you believe too low-born. Indeed, had I not been raised to _respect_   the lords and retainers serving my father and lady mother's respective houses, I may very well be inclined to say the same." Sansa replies archly, raising her eyebrow at Lord Royce's sons, both of whom have the dignity to look away at her implication. "However, I'm sure you would agree, Lord Royce, that these are most unusual and trying times and such require a different, more moderate approach to matters. I am most happy to welcome your sons to our discussion and as a man of honor I am sure you will welcome my lord and husband as well, is that not so?"

Swallowing hard, Bronze Yohn nods gravely, warily watching Nymeria draw closer to Sandor. "During your father's time such would be most unacceptable; however I must agree that this way is better suited to our current situation. As it pleases you, my lady."

Smiling sweetly, Sansa nods in assent. "That is most generous of you, my lord. Please Lord Royce, as Lord Eddard Stark's eldest daughter, I wish for us speak plainly in the true northern tradition."

"Thank you my lady, I would be happy to do just that. My plan for the Eyrie is quite simple; I would wish that our family hold it in trust until the anticipated arrival of your great-uncle, Ser Brynden."

"My great-uncle Brynden is coming here?" Sansa asks, her eyes widening. "Yes, my lady. Once we had confirmation from the Elder brother that his last surviving great-niece was alive and held captive in the Eyrie, we sent a raven at once to the Stone Crow clans of the Vale, among whom the Blackfish went into hiding after your Uncle Edmure surrendered Riverrun to the Lannisters. He is most eager to meet with you, Lady Sansa."

Happy tears well in Sansa's eyes at Lord Royce's words. _My uncle survived!_ Though she does not know him very well, it has been so long since Sansa has seen any blood relative that she is quite overcome by the prospect.

 _So the Blackfish has hidden among the Stone Crows. No wonder Carrig knew right away I wasn't in the Vale on holy business; he probably thought the Lannisters sent me to collect Brynden_. Keeping his thoughts to himself, Sandor leans over and squeezes Sansa's hand and then offers her his handkerchief.

"We felt it most fitting to invite him here and considering his loyal service to his niece, the Lady Lysa after the death of her husband, we will gladly offer him lordship of the Vale-if it is agreeable to you. Lady Sansa, were you aware he was the Knight of the Gate and ommander of the Bloody Gate before being called back to Riverrun to help your brother fight the Lannisters?"

"No, my lord, I have had no news of my Tully relations since my captivity in King's Landing."

"Forgive, me, I would imagine not. Ser Brynden had no idea you were here with Lord Baelish. However, rest assured he is well versed in the customs as well as the controversies of the tribes of the Vale and would be most capable as Lord Protector of the Vale, as your Uncle Jon Arryn was before him."

 _The Seven hells he didn't,_ Sandor frowns, glancing at Sansa. _Even the sellswords and clansmen at the Inn knew of a young woman with Baelish; it is bloody unbelievable Brynden Tully was ignorant of her whereabouts._ Sensing his anger and apprehension, Sansa asks, "My husband is there anything you wish to discuss?"

"My lady, Sandor Clegane's birth is not as much of concern to me as his affiliation with the Lannisters. I cannot abide his participation here-" Nymeria begins growling low at the sound of his voice, her ears perking up from her place at Sansa's feet.

"Pray forgive my interruption, Lord Royce but considering I most eagerly listened to your sons and nephew advising me yesterday, I would ask that you extend my husband the same courtesy. Sandor's desertion of King Joffrey is well-known. He protected me in King's Landing both from the king and others who threatened my safety, and he continues to do so now. I am willing to allow you to handle the matter of Nestor Royce's treachery toward House Arryn in accepting Lord Baelish's bribe without my interference and in return I hope you will trust my judgment about my own husband's loyalty as well."

Setting his jaw, the older man glances at his sons a moment and then the direwolf before reluctantly consenting to her words. "As you wish, my lady."

"Thank you my lord. I know my great-uncle will be most pleased to hear I was advised by you, Lord Royce, as a most agreeable and loyal bannerman of my Aunt Lysa and cousin Robert."

"Indeed," he says curtly.

 _All this time the Blackfish was here and he never came to see if the young woman with Baelish was his niece? Why?_   Sandor grits his teeth at the men, his lips curling into a snarl but he remains quiet, waiting for his wife's next words. "Forgive us, my husband. Please, do share your thoughts."

"I'd like to know why the Royce's are so quick to give up the Eyrie to the Tullys. Brynden Tully gave up serving Lysa Arryn and don't try to deny it; I heard it throughout my travels in the Riverlands. It was well-known he was fed up with her behavior," Sandor snorts, crossing his arms. "So much for you agreeing to give him the lordship due to his loyalty to your beloved Arryns. I'm no highborn but I'm no fool, either; no one gives up that much power out of the goodness of their heart. What do you get out of having the Blackfish rule the Vale?"

Andar speaks up, "Ser, Lady Clegane, it is our wish that raising Ser Brynden to such a strategic position will allow your family to eventually retake Riverrun and later, Winterfell, thus returning the Starks and Tullys to their rightful seats."

"I'm no _ser,_ " Sandor hisses sarcastically. "You _honorable_ men still haven't answered my question. You're telling us he's been here since Edmure gave up Riverrun and yet he never heard Baelish had a woman with him the same age as his own niece? He never was curious about her, after knowing Baelish was Master of Coin at the same time Sansa was in King's Landing? Bugger that. He stayed hidden for a damn good reason, so I'll ask again: what's in it for you?"

The men glance at each other, sharing an uncomfortable look between them and the curious exchange is not lost on Sansa or Sandor. Rising to her feet, Sansa holds out her hand to Sandor, who readily loops it through his arm. "After speaking to my great-uncle I will know more how we will go ahead from here. My lords, please forgive me but I must rest before my cousin's interment. If it pleases you my husband and I will retire until the service begins."

"Of course Lady Sansa," Lord Royce rises from his seat and his sons quickly follow suit. "We will rejoin in two hours' time in the crypts for Lord Robert's service."

* * *

Once they are alone in her room, Sansa settles on the bed while Nymeria curls herself in front of the fire. "What is it my love? I felt an intense wave of anger surge through you at the mention of my great-uncle."

"He'd fucking better well have a damned good reason for not coming here," Sandor seethes, gripping the hilt of his sword as he paces the floor. "Sansa, the clansmen and sellswords at the Inn Elder brother and I stayed knew about Petyr Baelish having a beautiful bastard-born daughter. We met Harrold Hardyng there and he was bragging about you and most of the men in the tavern already had either seen or heard of you. If your uncle has stayed among the Stone Crows as the Royces claim, you best believe he heard it, too. Having brought up Petyr along with your mother and aunt, he also damn well knows Baelish sure as hell doesn't have a bastard daughter your age."

Sansa slowly nods, considering his words. "Indeed. The Vale is vast but not heavily populated and sooner or later newcomers become well-known here. I would have expected such information would have at least aroused my uncle's curiosity."

"Brynden knows you were at King's Landing when Baelish served as Master of Coin for the Lannisters and that you both disappeared at the same time. Those so-called honorable men expect us to believe your uncle had no suspicions about you being here with Baelish? Buggering that."

"But why, Sandor? Why would Uncle Brynden ignore the fact that his niece may be held captive by Petyr? At the very least, he knew Petyr would have given him sanctuary in the Eyrie and the Lannisters could not impregnate the castle, for all their power."

Sandor pauses, allowing his wife to digest his words; Sansa sits in stunned silence, finally offering, "Surely my uncle knows Petyr betrayed and killed my father; it would not be such a stretch he would kidnap me as well. Why did he not come for me?"

Sighing, Sandor frowns and draws her close in his arms. "Well, lass, your uncle is a man of battle, a man of strategy. He'll do what yields the best results in the long run. And Sansa, you must bear in mind that creature Beric raised is not your mother, not the one you remember. You willing to hear my theory on it?"

"Of course," she says, anxiously searching his eyes. "Please tell me, what do you think is happening?"

"Lady Stoneheart is plotting against the Freys and Lannisters; she has been ever since your brother died. If word spreads you are being held by a former Lannister man, it would arouse plenty of outrage and support for her from various groups splintered by the war, such as the so-called Brotherhood Without Banners…fucking cowards, the lot of them."

"Isn't that the group of outlaws that put you on trial and made you fight Beric Dondarrion?"

Nodding, Sandor continues, "Your kidnapping would unite the enemies of the Freys and Lannisters in their desire for revenge, believe that. Your uncle likely acted on the wishes of your mother by leaving you with Petyr. No doubt both of them assumed Petyr's loyalty to the Tullys would keep you safe long enough for them to gather the support of the lords."

"I cannot imagine why they would think such. He killed my father; what makes them think I would be any safer?"

"Baelish always envied Ned your mother as well as his pull with Robert. He merely took the opportunity when it presented itself. He had nothing to gain by killing you, and the Blackfish and your mother know it. They figured they had time on their side to gather an army before they came for you."

" _If_   they came for me, you mean. Robb didn't, after all." Sansa whispers sadly. "Women are always the expendable ones in this life, even to their own relatives."

"Don't say such, Sansa. You are _not_ expendable, and neither will our daughters. The Warrior himself could not take my women from me," Sandor snarls, slamming his fist on the table.

"But what of my cousin? He was the rightful Lord Protector of the Vale. If they felt they had time, could they not wait until he came of age?"

"Robert Arryn's affliction was known even in King's Landing; the boy was not expected to see his twelfth nameday. More like Lady Stoneheart didn't want to wait. Your aunt refused your mother's appeals to support the Young Wolf, you know; we heard it from Tyrion, who was captive in the Vale when your mother pleaded your family's case to her sister. No doubt your mother partly blames Lysa for the loss of your brother and sacrificed her nephew for her own cause. Turnabout is fair play, after all."

"Gods be good," Sansa murmurs, feeling the truth of Sandor words in her heart. "And once the lords turned on Petyr, she would have her revenge for my father's death as well." Gently her husband places her on his lap and strokes her hair, holding her close.

"As it stands now your uncle will be Lord Protector of the Vale and as such he'll hold a strategic position from which to take back Riverrun. From there I expect they will keep amassing their supporters and eventually try for Winterfell, knowing as they do that with you by their side, not one of the northern lords would dare refuse their cause. No doubt they believe this is their best chance to regain what they have lost and the Royces expect to be handsomely rewarded when the times comes, no doubt,which is why they are ready to agree to this."

" _None_ of us will ever regain what we have lost," Sansa whispers bitterly. "Such thinking is folly." Sighing, Sansa wraps her arms around him. "Well, I will draw the truth of the matter out of my uncle." Trembling, she curls herself against his chest, trying to gather some of Sandor's strength. "Thank you, Sandor."

"For being the bearer of bad news?" Sandor says half-jokingly. Sansa takes his face into her hands. "For always telling me the truth, no matter how ugly it may be. You have never lied to me. You are the only one I trust completely, my love-you and the gods."

Kissing her tenderly, Sandor sets her on her feet. "I hope I am wrong, for your sake. For now, we need to see to your cousin," he says, leading her out of their room. Nymeria whines at the postern and Sandor opens it to her, allowing the direwolf to dart outside.

Afterward, the couple goes to Elder brother and shares their thoughts on what is happening with the Blackfish and Lady Stoneheart. After listening intently, Elder brother closes his eyes in prayer. When he finishes, he makes the sign of the Seven over each of them. "Let us put this aside for now, as difficult as it may be. Your cousin's soul must be laid to rest; the child deserves that much at least. The old gods and the new will provide the answers. I have no doubt this somehow relates to the bond they have made between you. We must be patient."

The funeral ceremony is a somber and somewhat impersonal affair. Sansa decided to have Robert interred in the family crypt and not in the Tully way of sending the body downriver and set aflame. Her decision to honor the Arryn tradition is a strategic one, both pleasing Lord Royce and his sons and creating an air of goodwill between them.

As the guests gather in the crypt, Nymeria suddenly appears, nudging her way toward Sansa. Once all are seated, Elder brother provides a short sermon and prayer, comforting the young woman with the reminder that her cousin has at last found peace. Finally, the boy is at last placed inside the family crypt alongside his Arryn ancestors, the first kings of the Vale. After praying over his crypt, Sansa sorrowfully runs her hands over the engraved name plate and Nymeria lets out a long, mournful howl in response to her grief. Calling to the direwolf, Sansa turns to leave, her and Sandor's departure signaling the end of the service for the other guests.

In the High Hall of the Arryns, Lord Royce has arranged for an elegant meal afterward, but Sansa, distraught and anxious, is in no mood for food. "Everything looks beautiful, Lord Royce and your generosity honors my family. Thank you everyone, for attending the service and paying respects to my departed cousin. However, I must beg the forgiveness of my kind and distinguished guests: I am deeply aggrieved and regretfully will not attend the meal. I wish to go to the godswood with my husband and pray for my cousin. Please, Lord Royce, would you allow our guests to enjoy the meal and hospitality of our house?" Sansa sadly requests the man.

"Of course, Lady Sansa," Lord Royce replies with a bow. "It is most appropriate for you to remain in prayer at such a time as this. My prayers and deepest regrets go with you my lady."

"Thank you," Sansa curtseys in return before hastily making her way to the godswood with Sandor. "Do you not wish to try to eat something, wife? You must be careful with your health, remember that," he rasps low, bundling her in furs before leading her outside, where Nymeria falls in with them as they make their way to the godswood.

"No, not yet, my love. I feel compelled to go to the godswood, like I must get there as quickly as possible. It is an urgent, unshakable feeling I have carried since Elder brother prayed over us."

"Aye, I felt it too, though it seems stronger in you, wife," Sandor nods, patting her hand looped through his arm. "Let's make haste."

Once they enter the godswood, a deep abiding peace descends over them. Leading Sandor over to the deep gray pool, Sansa kneels down before the Heart tree in prayer. "Please, see that my cousin Robert will know peace at last. I pray that Robb, Bran and Rickon will ease his way in the afterlife and lead him to his father and mother. I have faith you will see him reunited with all of our relatives who have gone before him," Sansa sobs out. "Please, help Sandor and I know what to do, what is best for our family," Sansa whispers and feels Sandor's hand tighten around her own at her words. "Help us honor your wishes for us and please give us guidance in all things. So be it."

"So be it." Sansa hears Sandor reply. Gently he helps her to her feet and Sansa moves closer to the Heart tree, reverently tracing her fingers over the ancient carved face. At her touch the eyes begin bleeding red sap and Sansa delicately wipes it away and then holds her hand up to show Sandor. "This is most unusual; I have never seen this happen so suddenly."

Sandor leans closer, staring into the face for a moment before abruptly rearing back, "Do you…do you see it?" Nymeria's ears perk up, a low growl rumbling in her throat.

"What is it, love?" Sansa asks, staring closer at the weirwood face. "Nymeria seems to notice something as well."

"The eyes…it's like it is looking at us," Sandor growls, gripping his sword.

"Well, that is the way it is designed with the faces carved into the sacred Heart tree, love. It is a northern tradition to recall the First men. There is nothing to fear, Sandor; you are just unfamiliar with such things, being a Westerman. Please, return your sword to its place."

Snorting, Sandor sheathes his sword and steps closer. The deep blood-red sap begins running faster as an uncharacteristically warm stiff wind suddenly swirls through the godswood, showering the couple in red leaves. Tilting her head, Sansa struggles to listen. "Do you hear that?"

Another gust howls through the area and Sandor jumps to his feet at the sound. "Someone is calling your name. Show yourself!" He snarls, drawing his sword once more. The huge direwolf begins whining and dancing, just as she did when she first saw Sansa.

"No wait, Sandor…I know that voice!" Sansa cries, eagerly looking around the godswood; the voice is warm, familiar and quite young. "Please, speak to us again…I wish to know who it is that calls to me."

A violent gust rushes through the weirwood grove, the wind howling louder than before. The current of air rustling between the trees incredulously sounds like words to the couple. "It's a child's voice, Sansa; a boy, I believe." Nymeria whines even louder; the direwolf suddenly rolling on her back and yipping in excitement.

 _No, it cannot be…_ Bursting into tears, Sansa wraps her arms around the Heart tree, sobbing as she hugs the massive trunk as the young woman suddenly recognizes the beloved, familiar voice from her past. "Yes, it is a child's voice…it is Bran! Bran, I hear you, dearest! Sandor, oh, my love, it is my younger brother Bran calling to us!"


	23. Bran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all your kind comments and con/crit :) I've been in and out of the hospital again and I'm sorry I've been unable to thank each of you personally. Please know that I appreciate the time each of you take to comment on my story. :)

"Sandor, it is my brother's voice!" Sansa cries, clinging to the Heart tree.

"Careful, wife," he says, taking her by the arm and leading her away. "Don't get so close, love. This might be some type of bloody sorcery," Sandor rasps low, gripping the hilt of his sword as he guardedly surveys the godswood. "I saw plenty with Beric Dondarrion and Thoros; bastards both of them, with their fucking red fire god. How do we know you're who you say you are?"

"You dreamed of Sansa," the wind rustles through the leaves. "She came to you every night in your dreams and haunted you as you dug graves during the day. You felt her mourning for you; it burned within you, consuming you." Snorting, Sandor frowns while glancing at Sansa.

"She buried your cloak right here and cried for you every day. She begged the gods return you to her. You both shared the pain of separation as physical suffering and were drawn to each other." Sansa's tears fall at her brothers words she nods slowly at her husband.

"Yes brother, all that you have said it true. Oh dearest, I do not know how it is possible but I thank the gods you heard my prayer. I cannot thank you and Rickon enough for answering me. I am only sorry you are no longer with me, that you both have rejoined Father in the afterlife. I…I am the last of the Starks but I am not alone. The gods brought Sandor back to me and I hope you know how grateful I am that you sent my husband."

"No, Sansa; Rickon and I are not with Father. Dry your tears; we are alive, as is Jon and Arya. Theon claimed he killed us but it was the miller's children he burned. I am with the Reeds, with Howland, Jojen and Meera. Hodor took care of us; please sister, you must not grieve any longer."

"Oh thank the gods!" Sansa gasps out, the color draining from her face as she reaches out for her husband. Sandor steadies her, carefully sitting her beside the pool.

"I heard your cries of distress, Sansa. I heard your prayers to the Heart tree. Howland and Jojen felt your anguish and encouraged me to listen to the Heart tree for you. Every afternoon I waited for you, hoping to hear your voice. Remember what Father taught us about the weirwoods?"

Searching her mind, Sansa finally nods fervently. "Yes, brother, do you mean that they are all connected? That they all hear our prayers?"

"I know it is difficult to believe but it is true. I have seen it and I feel it now," the wind howls through the godswood.

"Brother, how is it you speak to me through the Heart tree now and not before?"

"I needed time to learn how to hone my gifts."

"Jojen and Howland are not able to teach you?"

"I cannot explain it all, Sansa, forgive me. I am able to join with the Heart tree and become one with it. I sense Arya is able to do the same with Nymeria, even over great distances. I have joined with Summer, smelled the dirt of the forest floor and tasted his kills. Once I even explored a cave within Hodor."

"Old Nan told us of such abilities, though you may have been too little to remember what she said. I remember you began having vivid dreams after your accident, as though you could see through Summer's eyes. Mother and Father spoke of it and Maester Luwin called it 'warging', though he did not think that was the source of your dreams as I recall."

"Maester Luwin is dead, Sansa; he went to Father under the Heart tree in Winterfell. Roderick Cassel is with Father, too; Theon killed him. Rickon and I saw it happen."

Sighing deeply, Sansa slowly nods. "I am very sorry, brother. Jory Cassel is also with them; Jaime Lannister killed him when he tried to protect Father in King's Landing."

"Jaime is also the one who pushed me out the window. It was not Tyrion; he tried to help me in his own way."

"I care not for him, either, brother. The Lannisters forced me to marry Tyrion ," Sansa says, shuddering. "Lord Baelish took me away from him and brought me here; he had his own ulterior motives too."

"Do not fret, sister. The old gods did not honor your vows, forced as they were; the Heart tree told me so. I heard your husband's septon dissolve your wedded union a few days ago in the godswood and I related such to Elder brother."

"You? You are the one who answered his prayer?"

"No, sister, I just imparted to him what I heard from the Heart tree. I also heard you and Sandor say your wedded vows. His devotion and love for you is so powerful sister, and Rickon and I are both happy to have Sandor as a goodbrother now." A strong gust of wind whips through the trees, sending a shower of red leaves over the couple.

"Where are you now, brother? I worry for your safety in your present state."

"I am one with the weirwood tree. Hodor is here watching over me, as is Summer."

"Hodor is with you? I am so glad!" Sansa says, excitedly squeezing Sandor's hand.

"Hodor? That simple stable boy with giant's blood?" Sandor rasps, raising his eyebrow.

"Yes, Sandor. He carried Rickon and me to safety guided along by a Wilding woman named Osha that Father once held at Winterfell," the leaves rustle loudly.

"Oh Bran, words cannot express how thankful I am to know you and Rickon are safe. Please tell Rickon that I love him and thank Hodor for me and give him my love as well," Sansa weeps, hugging herself tightly. _The pack survived though the lone wolf died. The wolves will come again. The wolves will return to Winterfell, I feel it in my blood just as surely as winter is coming._

"Jojen and Howland are teaching me to use my greensight as well as to control the warging, sister, that is how I am able to speak to you now. Even though I cannot walk, I have other abilities now and there is great power to be had." At these words Sansa and Sandor each hear Bran's words deep inside their hearts, like a whisper, and no longer in the wind gusting throughout the godswood.

"The old gods have blessed you, Bran. Please, I have no right to tell you how to manage your abilities, my love, but as your sister allow me to say you must take great care in how you use them. I do not think you should warg into Hodor; he is simple and it will frighten him, I am sure of it. It is not kind to take advantage of him in such a way dearest, and Father would not wish it."

"Yes, I felt a deep fear in him while we were joined; I also felt Father's unhappiness with me after. I will not promise I will not do it again, though Maester Luwin warned me about such, and still does at times. I would never hurt Hodor, you know that."

Sansa closes her eyes. _What has he become? My sweet little brother, what has happened to you?_

"You must not hesitate to tell me your feelings Sansa, I feel your distress even now as we speak. I know this is all very hard to accept. Allow me to help you."

"I will, love, I promise. It is so very hard to put into words what I feel right now; this is all so overwhelming. You must understand, I thought I was alone for so very long…and now to find you alive and yet so altered…it is a lot to digest, brother, forgive me," Sansa trails off and Sandor pulls her closer. "Brother, when I heard you and Rickon were dead, it was very odd, as I did not feel you or Rickon's loss as I did when Robb was killed. It was the same with Lady and with Father and Mother, though she is…changed now in an unspeakable way. Have you not felt it?"

"Yes, I no longer feel her. When I think of Mother now, she is hard and bitter, decayed and empty. Sister, this may be hard to hear but she was taken from Father and Robb in the afterlife by the red god. You must not go near her, Sansa. Promise me."

"Of course dearest…I promise; but why, Bran?" Sansa says uncertainly, reaching for Sandor's hand.

"The red god R'Hllor is using her along with Stannis Baratheon to gain control over the great houses of Westeros. He attempted such with Daenerys Targaryen as well; Jojen saw it in a dream that he tried to steal her dragons by means of a warlock in Qarth. Sandor, the red god controlled Beric Dondarrion after he was raised from the dead, which is how he was able to set his sword aflame in your trial by combat."

Sansa looks at Sandor questioningly. "My love, do you know of what Bran speaks?"

"Aye, I believe so. You mean the red god took him after he was brought back from when Gregor killed him the first time, boy?"

"Yes, goodbrother, in the same way the red god's spirit transferred to Mother when Beric gave his life for hers. Howland and Jojen felt it happen, as did I; it was black, evil. The creature Lady Stoneheart is not our mother; she does the bidding of R'Hllor now. I fear for your safety. She is seeking you, Sansa, even now, to use you to get Winterfell and control of the north. If she succeeds, the old gods of the forest will not survive. The red god will hold the north and destroy the weirwoods and perhaps even the children of the forest. I will not survive, either."

"On no! No, Bran I swear it on the old gods and the new, I will never cooperate with her or whatever that red god plans. Can you not entreat the help of the old gods on our behalf?"

"Yes, I already have done so on this matter and continue my efforts. Sandor, you must keep Sansa safe, I beg you; do not let that creature near my sister. Protect her in our stead, goodbrother, and I will help you."

"I will keep her safe and bring her to you, Bran. I swear it on the old gods and the new," Sandor says, kneeling and laying his sword at the foot of the Heart tree.

"Bran, we will come north to you, as soon as we are able. I have so much to say to you…so many questions. How will I find you again?"

"Come back to the Heart tree tomorrow afternoon just as you always have done and I will be here."

"Bran, I love you and Rickon both…I have missed you so! Knowing you are alive, I cannot wait to be with you again!" Sansa cries, her tears freezing to her cheeks.

"We are never apart, sister, not really. I will be with you, as I have been since I heard your prayers. It will not be the same as before, sister, but we will always be joined. We both love you and long to see you."

A tremendous gust of icy wind envelopes the godswood, showering leaves over the couple after which a hushed silence falls over the entire area. Sansa and Sandor glance around the godswood; a light snow begins falling around them.

"He is gone," Sansa softly sobs, sinking to her knees on the frozen ground. Nymeria tilts up her muzzle and emits a long, mournful howl, the sorrowful sound sending shivers through the couple.

Sandor helps Sansa to her feet and then stands up and shakes his head several times as if to clear his mind. "Seven buggering hells, your little brother talks to us through a tree?! I thought I had seen it all with Beric's flaming sword!"

"It is too much to bear. All that he said, husband…it's all so very overwhelming," Sansa comments, softly running her fingers over the carved face of the ancient weirwood. Sniffing, he kicks at the soft dirt next to the Heart tree, deep in thought. Unsure what to do next, Sansa kneels down and silently begins praying before the Heart tree.

"So am I to understand the origin of our bond was made by this Jojen and Howland Reed together with your brother? They bonded us after your prayers to the Heart tree?" he says finally, drawing her close to him after she finishes her prayers.

"No, love, the men did not make it, exactly; it would be more correct to say they entreated the old gods, who then answered their prayers and formed the bond. Those with greensight have a special connection with the old gods and the children of the forest; that is what Father taught us. I am sorry but I do not know much more beyond that."

Sandor slumps down on a nearby rock and rubs his hands over his face anxiously. "After fighting Beric and Thoros, I know that fucking red god doesn't mess around. It is powerful magic his followers carry, I've seen it firsthand. Suffered for it, too," Sandor growls, rubbing his scarred arm. "We must move quickly if that undead creature means to find you."

"Agreed. After Bran's warning, I am unwilling to stay here to wait and see what will happen next. My uncle should be here on the morrow or perhaps even late this evening-what should we do?"

"Little bird, our bond has already told us all we need to know; we just need to listen and act on it. Both of us have desired to leave this place since we were reunited in the godswood."

Sansa nods gravely, "Yes, I feel the same way."

"As for Lady Stoneheart, well, your brother warned us to stay away from her and you best believe I'll die before I allow her or any of her fucking yes men anywhere near you."

"We should talk to Elder brother at once, Sandor. He needs to know all that has happened. He'll know what is best and we cannot leave him here for that horrible red god."

Grunting, Sandor nods. "Aye, that we will. I'll take you straight away to him though I say we get the fuck away from this bloody place as soon as possible."

Frowning, Sansa slowly assents. "If that creature is determined to use me to gain Winterfell and the north, I imagine she will not hesitate to do whatever she deems necessary to force me to stay at the Eyrie. If my uncle does her bidding, how will we leave?"

"One thing at a time, love. Let's go to Elder brother."

When Sandor and Sansa returned to the castle, they find Brynden Tully with a small retinue of Tully bannermen along with Lord Royce and his sons awaiting their return in the High Hall of the Arryns. Curtseying low, Sansa approaches her uncle and takes him by the hands. "Dearest greatuncle, it eases my mind greatly to have you with us here. Allow me to introduce my husband-"

"Sandor Clegane, the Hound as was. I've heard of him," the Blackfish comments dully, warily sizing up Sandor. "Formerly in service to the Lannisters, niece, who may I remind you now hold Riverrun, the ancestral home of your mother."

"Aye, I served the Lannisters; me and a thousand others. What of it?"

Ignoring Sandor's reply, Brynden frowns at Sansa and takes her by the arm, moving her so that they cannot be overheard by the Royces. "Your mother will have much to say about your choice, young lady. Were you so long with the Lannisters that you have forgotten your house words and what you owe your family?"

"Family. Duty. Honor. Greatuncle, I have not forgotten, nor can I forget that winter is coming. Considering both Tully and Stark sides of my family left me with the Lannisters and then isolated in the Eyrie with the predatory Lord Baelish, a better question I could not have asked myself. I ask you: where was the family, duty or honor in allowing Lord Baelish to keep me here?"

Sansa's voice is soft, gentle and the sound of his beloved wife's wounded tone is fit to break Sandor's heart. Drawing a deep breath, Sandor struggles to still his fury; it is all he can do not to slit the Blackfish's throat.

Brynden notices Sandor's intimidating demeanor and gingerly approaches her. "Sansa, it is much more complicated than you realize, child. We needed to do what was best in the long-term, for both Houses Tully and Stark," Brynden begins gently, reaching for her arm.

Turning away, Sansa takes hold of Sandor's powerful bicep and he responds by placing his other hand over her own. "Please, greatuncle, at least honor me enough to be honest. Though I am still young, I am no longer a child and living with Lord Baelish has taught me the ways of the game of thrones, I assure you. Again I ask, why did you and Lady Stoneheart leave me here once you suspected I was in the Eyrie?"

"Your mother…" the Blackfish begins before staring at Sandor apprehensively. Fury now radiates off the man; sensing the depth of Sansa's hurt and suffering, Sandor glares at him with a murderous, abject hatred. "Your mother believed you would be safe here and I concurred, knowing Baelish as I do."

"That undead abomination is not Catelyn Stark and you know it, Blackfish. Your niece almost died from the hell Littlefinger put her through. What do you have to say for yourself?" Sandor seethes, his unique understanding of the little bird's suffering leaving him brimming with fury.

"Your mother and I needed assurance that you would be safe until we could come for you with enough men to free you from Baelish. I'll leave the rest of the details for your mother to explain to you. She will be here on the morrow; she walks through the night now, in no need of rest. I do not expect you to understand, Sansa, but you must believe we did what we thought was best."

 _It is futile to discuss this with him. I must not waste any more time with this and go to Elder brother immediately._ "I do believe that, uncle," Sansa says quietly before turning to Lord Royce. "My lord, I would be most grateful if you would see to the accommodations for my uncle and his men."

"Of course, my lady. Preparations are being made as we speak."

"Excellent," Sansa smiles, and Sandor notices her face take on the passive mask of courtesy she so often wore in King's Landing. "My husband and I wish to offer prayers with Elder brother and afterward we will retire for the evening. Greatuncle, I am sure you must be very tired from your travels; indeed, this day has been most trying for everyone present, is that not so?"

"Indeed, Lady Sansa, it has been most trying indeed. Burying a child is never easy," Lord Royce bows low.

"Lord Royce, should my greatuncle wish it, would you please escort him to the crypt to see his nephew's final resting place?" Sansa smiles politely.

Brynden nods eagerly at her words. "Yes, Lord Royce, at your earliest convenience."

"It would be my honor, my lord," Lord Royce bow as his two sons rise from their respective places.

Watching the men disappear from the hall, Sandor leans close to his wife, "We must make haste and speak to Elder brother while we have the chance."

"Oh yes, do let's hurry," Sansa eagerly hurries alongside her husband ascending the winding staircase to Elder brother's room.


	24. The Time to Leave is Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for your reviews and kind words. Sorry this took a bit but I've been struggling with my health again-thank you for your patience :D

Elder brother listens intently to Sandor and Sansa's account of what transpired in the godswood. Alarmed, he asks many questions and Sansa tells him all she knows of the old gods, weirwood trees, greensight and the bond between her and Sandor. After they finish relating their experience, Elder brother quietly closes his eyes in prayer.

When he is finished, he turns to Sansa and places his hand on hers. "My lady, I know you wish to move toward reestablishing your house and the house of your cousin here with your uncle but after your brother's warning we just cannot risk ignoring the gods. The time to leave is now."

"Of course, Elder brother," Sansa nods sadly, bending to scratch Nymeria's ears; the direwolf has refused to allow Sansa out of her sight ever since the godswood and insists on accompanying them even inside the castle.

"I no longer feel the need to press my advantage. After speaking to my uncle, I can see it is futile to continue my efforts here under such circumstances. We are all at great risk, there is no denying it. Considering the extraordinary measures the gods have taken to warn us, we have no choice but to listen; to do otherwise would be foolhardy."

"That greatly relieves my mind, dear. Rest assured, the gods will bless your obedience and faith. After my prayers, I feel an urgency that we must leave the day after tomorrow at the latest, Sandor. We cannot risk delaying beyond that time."

Turning to Sansa, Sandor places his hand on hers. "What say you, wife?"

"I do not think we can wait. I trust your judgment my love. What does the bond tell you?"

Sandor sighs, stretching his legs out before him. "We have to get away from here, and now. I don't want to waste any more time wife, not after promising your brother I would keep you safe. Lady Stoneheart is bound to be here on the morrow."

"Yes, I am ready, Sandor." Sansa says, squeezing his hand.

Turning to Elder brother she asks, "Do you believe the red god knows of our plans and will try to subvert our efforts?"

"I do not know, Sansa, but it seems since you have the protection of the old gods and the new that should count for something, don't you think?" The holy man smiles, patting her hand.

Clearly relieved, Sansa lets out a deep breath. "Yes of course, Elder brother; that eases my mind greatly."

"It doesn't matter what the red god fucking well plans, wife; he'll not hurt you, I swear it," Sandor growls, drawing her close to his chest.

"Are we are in agreement that we shall leave tonight?" He asks, glancing between the couple.

"Aye, we're in agreement," Sandor nods and Sansa eagerly follows suit.

"I am thankful and I must say most relieved as well. Now then, I just may have an idea that will get all of us out of here without raising suspicions."

After detailing his plan to the couple, the Elder brother and Sandor work out the particulars while Sansa returns to their room. Exhausted emotionally and physically, her mind is in turmoil and her heart aches to think what has befallen her lady mother.

Nymeria naps in the solar as the maid draws her bath, and Sansa uses the time alone to silently pray to the old gods and the new. _Please, give my lady mother peace and allow her to return to Father and Robb in the afterlife. Watch over us and keep us safe from the red god and help us escape this place. Keep Sandor safe and help him protect us. Help my brothers and sister as well. So be it._

During her bath, Sandor quietly slips into the room and surprises her by suddenly stripping off and climbing into the tub beside her. Laughing, Sansa splashes him as he pulls her in his lap and begins washing her hair, the moment of lightheartedness between the couple providing a much needed break from the trials of the day.

For a man who has spent a lifetime deprived of affection, having the Little bird so close renders Sandor unable to resist making love to her and after leisurely bathing he scoops her on the bed. It is far more than satisfying a physical desire for Sandor; he has discovered that through the bond Sansa heals his wounded heart and nurtures the yearning he has suppressed his entire life: to love and be loved in return.

He knows she understands this need, for Sansa always willingly submits to his attentions and Sandor senses she needs him as well. In the throes of passion she stares deep into his eyes as he loves her, willing him to feel her love and commitment to him, and feel it he does. With his lovemaking, Sandor tries to communicate the same feelings to her and he reminds himself that she too has been starved for love ever since leaving Winterfell.

Lying together afterward, he feels Sansa's contentment peacefully settle over him as she languidly runs her finger through the hair on his chest. Sandor's mind wanders back to Elder brother's plan. _It's hair-brained but the old man's plan just might work, after all._ Silently Sansa sleepily snuggles down against him, reveling in the feel of his body next to her own.

A powerful surge of anxiety pulses through Sandor, suddenly disturbing his relaxed state. Sensing his apprehension, Sansa raises up to look at him. "What is it? Are you afraid Elder brother's plan will not work?" She says softly, caressing the burned side of his face. "Tell me what troubles you, my love."

"No, that's not it," he grumbles, pulling her up so she is close to his face. "It's…it's that fucking red god…I don't bloody well fear him but truth be told he may try to ruin our plans."

"I know," Sansa frowns. "You have had dealings with his priests before. What if he disrupts our escape?"

"I won't let that happen, no matter what he does," Sandor growls, brushing a stray curl away from her face. "I fucking killed one of his followers and I'll do it again; I'll slaughter all of them if need be. I promised your brother I won't let Lady Stoneheart near you, and I mean to keep my word, Little bird. No one will hurt you, lass, I swear it." He speaks more softly, kissing her face while running his finger along her jaw line.

"I trust you, my love," she whispers, tenderly pressing her lips to his. "You won't let anyone hurt me."

"Anyone tries and I'll kill them. I'll not hesitate to kill that so-called Lady Stoneheart either. Though I know it may be hard for you, wife, you must prepare yourself because it very well may come to that."

"That poor creature is _not_ my mother; you heard what Bran said," Sansa whispers, huddling against his chest. "My mother was denied her rest with my father and brother in the afterlife. Whatever happens, you do whatever you see fit, Sandor. I would not question your methods after you have done so much for me," Sansa sighs. "Where will we go from here?"

"I was thinking we'll catch a boat in White Harbor and make for the north to your brothers," Sandor rasps while gently stroking her cheek. "It will be the safest way for us to travel, faster too. What say you?"

"Oh, yes, Sandor, I would like that very much," she smiles and then takes his hand and kisses it. "It will be so good to see them again. I haven't seen them since they were little, you know. I wonder what they look like now?"

"You'll find out soon enough, wife. We just need to get through this first," Sandor says assuredly. "Three moons from now and you'll be with them once more."

The next morning the couple breaks their fast with Lord Yohn and his sons, as well as Elder brother and Brynden Tully. "Lady Clegane, I received word that your mother should be here within two days."

"Indeed? So quickly? How is such possible, Uncle?" Sansa says casually, affecting her calm demeanor from King's Landing as she daintily raises her teacup to her lips.

"Your mother does not sleep at night anymore, instead preferring to wander. She and the Brotherhood do most of their traveling after nightfall, even here in the Vale."

"The brotherhood-what brotherhood, Uncle? Surely you do not mean the Brotherhood Without Banners?" Sansa asks while watching Sandor, who slams his fist down on the weirwood table at the mention of them.

"You invited those buggering bastards here?" He sneers, standing abruptly and knocking over his chair in his haste. "What kind of shit is this, Blackfish? Trying to kill me and still keep your hands clean, are you?"

"Dearest Uncle, this is most unwelcome news," Sansa begins, rising to leave with her husband. "Perhaps you are unaware that the Brotherhood dealt treacherously with my husband in the past. Sandor bears the scars of his ordeal on his sword arm still and should they come here, I will insist on justice for him."

"The Brotherhood is a necessary though despicable presence if we are to win back our respective seats, my dear," the Blackfish says dismissively. "You must learn to sacrifice some things for the greater good."

"How can you say such? Uncle, this is most inhospitable; I hardly know what to say," Sansa says firmly, anger flashing in her blue eyes as she takes Sandor by the hand.

Looking down at her, Sandor clenches his jaw but softens his tone as he addresses her. "Don't worry your head over it, wife. I've already put the men responsible in the ground," he rasps, taking her hand. Turning back to Brynden, he snarls, "Just as I'll run my sword through the rest of them. Given the chance, I'll end the so-called _brave companions_."

"I am glad to hear it Sandor, for such men cannot go unpunished," Elder brother adds. "Their cruelty and cowardice toward you is unspeakable."

"Uncle, after the atrocity they inflicted upon my beloved husband, we cannot possibly be expected to tolerate their abhorrent existence under any circumstances. Should they come here, I will insist they be brought to justice."

Lord Yohn glances anxiously at his sons and then at the Blackfish. "Lord Tully, Lady Sansa speaks rightly; I heard what they did to Clegane. They have no authority to do such things. They are outlaws."

"If you mean to murder me, then bloody well get on with it," Sandor growls, bringing his face within inches of the Blackfish. Sansa slowly moves away from him and stands behind Elder brother.

"Sansa, Sandor, please be seated," Brynden sighs, gesturing at their empty chairs. "I understand your outrage and believe me when I say I am not insensitive to your past suffering, Sandor. All of you must understand that the Brotherhood have been companions of Lady Catelyn ever since the massacre at The Twins. She will go nowhere without them since the so-called red wedding and they serve her loyally."

"At Uncle Edmure's wedding feast, when Robb was killed," Sansa murmurs sadly. "It was there that Beric raised her from the dead?"

"Yes," the Blackfish nods, adjusting his tunic as he returns to his seat. Reluctantly Sandor sits down and Sansa soon sits down beside him. Lord Yohn frowns at his sons, displeased by Lord Tully's words.

"Several months ago, Lord Baelish and I met Brienne of Tarth, the sworn shield of my mother. She is a most honorable woman; I can hardly believe she travels with them."

"She does not, my dear. Your mother had her tried and executed along with her squire shortly after she returned to her without you or Arya."

Gasping, Sansa clutches Sandor's hand. "Are you certain? You must be mistaken! Lady Brienne…and poor Podrick, too! I cannot believe it! For shame, Uncle!"

"Regretfully it is true, Sansa. Your mother sent the raven to me herself, saying she executed the both of them a month or so back."

 _That was when my pains started, when I was thinking of Sansa. Bloody hells, it wasn't only her fear I felt; it was the gods warning me then she was in grave danger from both her mother and Littlefucker,_ Sandor concludes while gently stroking his wife's arm.

"Whatever for, Uncle?" Sansa manages weakly, struggling to compose herself. "I cannot believe anyone would try her so quickly."

"The Brotherhood tried and executed her at your mother's behest. When Brienne returned from the Vale she informed your mother that she was searching for Sansa at the bidding of Jaime Lannister. This led Cat to believe that Brienne turned traitor, along with the fact she was carrying Oathkeeper, one of two Lannister swords forged from Ice."

"Is that the tale, now?" Sandor shakes his head. "Killed Lady Brienne over a sword, did she? Bugger that. Lady Stark knew Brienne would not go along with her treachery."

"There is no treachery to speak of, Clegane! There is no doubt her sword was Jaime Lannisters and forged from Ice; Oathkeeper is Valyrian steel." The Blackfish growls contemptuously at Sandor, causing the scarred man to smirk in response.

"Yes, I noticed Lady Brienne's sword was made from Valyrian steel," Sansa shakily says, turning to Sandor.

"Easy, lass; you must calm yourself," he rasps softly, squeezing her hand.

"That in of itself is not proof Lady Brienne was a traitor. Perhaps Jaime felt he owed it to her for some deed. It is the Lannister's wrong that they stole Lord Eddard's greatsword; you know that, Lord Tully," Elder brother gravely remarks.

"Indeed I do; however, Brienne swore she was still faithful but Cat insisted she prove it by killing Jaime. Brienne refused, stating that Jaime is a changed man. Cat told her she must choose, either kill Jaime or be hanged. Brienne refused to choose and so she was hung, and Podrick Payne along with her."

"Am I to understand that Lady Catelyn hung the boy, too, for the supposed crime of betrayal? So, apparently this has no bearing on the Lannisters theft and bastardizing of Ice, it would seem," Lord Yohn says gravely, exchanging anxious glances with his sons.

"Indeed; Catelyn did not so much as give Lady Brienne the chance to return the heirloom. The boy was in the wrong place at the wrong time, poor lad. Catelyn felt she was well within her rights and obtaining justice for her family."

Sandor looks at Elder brother and shakes his head, fury clouding his mind at Sansa's mother. "Spare me this pious bleating, Blackfish." He remembers Lady Brienne's visit to the Quiet Isle; she was kind hearted in her speech and respectful to the Elder brother. She even cleared his name by killing the true raper of the Saltpans, and the man feels he owes her one. _Poor Pod,_ he sighs. Sandor was always fond of Podrick in his own way, the boy reminding him of himself at that age.

"Gods be good," Sansa whispers, her face paling at the news. "I cannot believe my mother would do such a thing."

"Nor I," Bryden agrees dismally. "I found the news most disturbing, but after all that your mother has endured…losing Robb, Bran and Rickon, and Arya…"

"It would seem Lady Catelyn has returned from the grave altered, and not for the better," Elder brother comments darkly.

"No worse than you, Clegane. You've killed your share in your time, for all your repentance."

"I'm the same as you. The only difference is, I don't lie about what I am," Sandor rasps, leaning back in his seat. Brynden opens his mouth to speak but stops upon seeing Sansa's appalled expression.

"Do you have any useful information, Blackfish, such as why the kingslayer sent this Lady Brienne to find Sansa?" Sandor scowls, taking Sansa by the hand.

"After Joffrey was assassinated, Jaime claimed he wanted to keep Sansa safe from Cersei. He felt it was justice for Brienne to protect her with her father's own steel, according to the maid of Tarth."

"It was Father…he was trying to protect me! He must have moved Jaime to do such a thing, Uncle! And mother…she…she" Sansa stutters out, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Shh, Little bird," Sandor mutters in her ear as he pulls her close. "He cannot hear you now; think of what Bran said. You must calm yourself," Sniffling, Sansa pats him lightly, indicating she understands.

"The Maiden is always ready to protect the innocent, Lady Sansa," Elder brother comments, clearing his throat while raising one eyebrow at her.

"Indeed, Elder brother," Lord Royce agrees with a nod.

"Of course, forgive me. My grief has overtaken my senses," she smiles politely, understanding she must not give away her thoughts. "Do continue, uncle."

Before Bryden Tully speaks, Carrig and several of his men enter the dining hall, bowing low. "Lord Tully, Lord Royce; we must leave soon as possible. The clan needs us and we have stayed here long enough."

Nodding, Brynden gestures to Lord Royce. "We were hoping you might stay a bit longer to secure the area but it is no matter."

"We do not wish to be here with the company you will be keeping," Carrig stares at the men; Brynden smiles at the man. "Of course; Chief Carrig, your loyalty here will be handsomely rewarded. Allow us until this evening to prepare your earnings. Meet us with a wagon later this afternoon and you will find foodstuffs, furs and plenty of ale and wine ready to return to your clan, along with my most sincere gratitude."

Grinning, Carrig nods, "I knew you high lords wouldn't be forgetting your manners. We'll make ready our things and meet you at dusk in front of the castle storehouses."

Suddenly rising, Elder brother approaches Carrig. "I, too, must leave tonight. I can see my work here is finished and no doubt there is much that needs attending on the Quiet Isle. Might I have a word with you Chief Carrig, as you prepare? I will not delay your work with formality."

"Aye, you're welcome to do so, holy man," Carrig says, clearly puzzled. "We're headed to the stables now; you ready to join us?"

"Yes, thank you, Chief Carrig," Elder brother smiles. "My lords and lady; pray excuse me but I have important matters to attend," he says, nodding to Sandor; Sansa notices Sandor nods back with his eyebrow raised.

When the holy man is out of sight, Brynden says, "As I was saying, Sansa, your mother is much changed after her…experience. It is necessary to adapt in such critical times as our families are now facing with the war. I am sure you can appreciate the unusual circumstances by which she comes to us and behave respectfully as is expected of you, child."

"Certainly, Uncle," Sansa smiles, bowing her head to him. "Please forgive my outburst; I have been very emotional as of late."

"Of course you have, my dear," he smiles and Lord Royce nods understandingly, causing Sandor to growl under his breath.

"Rest assured, dearest Uncle, I will behave with the utmost decorum as is expected of Lord Eddard Stark's daughter; regrettably I must confess living with Lord Baelish has made me forget myself."

"Hardly a wonder, my dear," he frowns, remembering Baelish's behavior as a young man taken in as warden of his brother Hoster, "But your mother will set things aright; although how she will take to your marriage is entirely another matter."

"Well, please know that I will do what Father would have expected of me," she bows. "Pray excuse me, my lords; I would very much like to go to the godswood with my husband for prayers."

"I can see you are far more devout than either your mother or father, Sansa; it does my heart good."

Smirking, Sandor replies, "Aye, I'm sure it does. Come, wife," he says, leading her by the arm.

"Thank you, Uncle," she says, placing a small kiss on his cheek before retiring to her room on Sandor's arm with Nymeria in tow.


	25. Leaving

Once Sandor closes the door behind them, Sansa tightly clings to him and begins to wail in anguish. "I cannot believe that monstrosity who claims she is my mother would…would…" Sansa stutters out, burying her face in her husband's tunic.

Nymeria sniffs Sansa thoroughly, whining and nosing the young woman in response. Raising her head to the air, a mournful howl resounds in the room as the animal voices her distress over Sansa's sorrowful state.

"Easy wife, this isn't good for you. Shhh, you're still getting well, remember that," Sandor murmurs low while clutching her tightly against his chest. Leading her to the window seat, he sits her on his knee and rubs soothing circles over her back.

"Poor Lady Brienne! She was a gentle, kind woman even though she was a powerful warrior as well. Sandor, she was so very concerned over how distraught I was when she related the news of your death. And Podrick, he was always so good to me in King's Landing! Do you remember how he was always so polite and helpful?"

"Aye, wife, I remember."

"It is just unimaginable to me that they are gone!"

"Shhh, I know, love. Their troubles are over now, lass," Sandor whispers in her hair, caressing her arms and shoulders. "They are with your father and brother now. Might be they watch over us, too."

"Yes, that is true." She sniffs while burying her face into his neck. "I had not thought of that." Sansa desperately needs to get closer, to experience Sandor's strength. Lifting his tunic, she runs her hands along his bare skin, eliciting a shiver from her husband.

"Is the Little bird hungry for her dog again?" He gently teases and kisses her shoulder. In reality he shares her yearning for closeness; her pain is so very raw that Sandor is overwhelmed by an urgent need to strengthen her.

"Forgive me, I…" Sansa begins, blushing as he tilts her face up so she will look him in the eye.

"You needn't apologize, wife," he chuckles, stroking her hair. "I'd be a bloody fool to ever turn such a beauty as you away."

Sansa sadly smiles at his teasing mood. "I do not wish to offend you, husband, but it is not for our coupling that I am longing. It is just that the feeling of our skin touching, the warmth of our bodies against each other is so very soothing to me."

Sandor nods. "I understand, Sansa."

"Since the cabin on that first day you held me in your arms without clothes," Sansa hesitates, blushing.

"Yes?" He grins mischievously.

Reddening, she looks away. "That day I discovered that I experience a sort of healing in your arms, if that makes sense. The feel of your body alleviates my fears and suffering both physically and emotionally. With you I am complete; I am made whole, somehow. It is quite powerful and-"

"And?" He grins devilishly, gathering her close.

"And I would call it transcendental, even. When I am frightened or sad, my first instinct is to touch you, to get as close as possible and bury myself in your arms. You are my shelter, my safety, Sandor," she whispers the last words. "It is not only the bond, my love; I have felt it since King's Landing. That is why I kept your cloaks."

Swallowing hard, Sandor tenderly wipes the tears from her cheeks. He understands more than she realizes and her words move the man deeply. He has never told her how profoundly her small acts of kindness towards him shaped him or that she has been his only comfort ever since King's Landing. Long before they were bonded, the soft touch of Sansa's hand on his shoulder on the serpentine steps offered him more solace than he had ever known in life.

When she stroked his cheek the night of the Blackwater battle, her compassionate gesture simultaneously shattered him while comforting and strengthening him as well.

Sansa's empathy in King's Landing forever changed him and from that day forward being in her company began molding him into a different man, a better man.

After he left her, he drank himself into a stupor every day trying to achieve the same consolation but to no avail; he was lost and sick without her. Though it took him to the brink of death to admit it, it is she who made him understand the need to put an end to the vengeful Hound.

"My beloved wife, I feel it with you as well," he finally manages, removing his tunic. "I have felt it since the serpentine." Shedding his breeches, he sits down on the bed and pats the spot beside him. "No need to fret. I won't press you for more in such a state. Come here, lass," he says as she draws near, turning so he will unlace her gown.

"Do not say such, Sandor. How could I ever fret over my husband wanting to love me?" Sansa chides softly while running her fingers through the hair on his chest. Once freed of the gown, she eagerly casts off the rest of her clothing and climbs into bed with her husband.

Sandor wraps his body around hers, pressing her tightly against him. Reveling in the warmth of his skin, Sansa's sniffling soon abates and after several minutes she sighs contentedly while Sandor strokes her back. Discerning the tension slowly leaving her body, Sandor kisses her softly in the crown of her hair and continues his ministrations, leaving no part of her form untouched.

The couple derives reassurance from the security of their bond growing ever more resilient through interaction. Closing her eyes, Sansa presses her cheek against his muscular chest, willing the world outside to disappear. She longs to have nothing more than Sandor and this closeness for the rest of their lives.

"I know, love," she hears him quietly rasp, running his fingers through her hair.

"Did you hear my thoughts?" Sansa asks, looking up at him suddenly.

"What? No, Little bird. I heard what you just said now," he rasps in a whisper, nuzzling into the crook of his wife's neck and tenderly kissing where her pulse flutters beneath the skin.

"Sandor, I did not speak," Sansa answers, rising up to look at him. "I thought to myself how I wish we could stay like this."

Alarmed, Sandor stares at her. "You didn't speak those words?"

"No, love, I thought it. Perhaps Bran is helping us know each other's thoughts."

"Fuck me-I hope he can't read them as well. That boy sure as hell doesn't need to know what I think of his sister," Sandor growls into her ear, sweeping his tongue over the tender flesh.

"We should go to the Heart tree and tell Bran of our plans. Perhaps Jojen and Howland will help him assist our escape."

Sighing, Sandor nods. "Alright, wife, we'll go," he says, throwing back the down coverlet.

"Husband, I did not mean just yet," Sansa whispers, pulling him back beside her. "First I wish…"

"You wish for what?" He grunts, curiously watching the color rise in her cheeks.

"I wish for you to- to love me first," Sansa whispers, twisting the sheet in her hands. "I…I need to feel you inside of me, to be joined to you. But if you think that would take too long, I understand-"

Chuckling low, Sandor eagerly nips along her collarbone. "I can be as quick as need be, my wanton Little bird," he growls, pulling her on top of him.

"My love, please, I need you. I want you," she gasps in between Sandor's hungry kisses. Rising up to straddle his lap, Sansa takes hold of his hands for balance, lacing her fingers through his as she positions herself over him.

Throwing back her head, a deep moan escapes her lips as she sheathes him deep inside and slowly begins thrusting against his length. Watching her in the throes of passion with her lovely skin flushed with need, Sandor can hardly believe this beautiful creature desires him as much as he desires her. Yet, through their bond, he feels her love coursing through his heart, leaving no doubt the little bird both wants and needs him, body and soul.

"Look at me," he rasps hoarsely, his voice almost pleading. "Look at me."

Sansa opens her lovely eyes and smiles down at him, taking the man's breath away. "I love you, Sandor," she sighs, staring deep into his eyes and rolling her hips. "You must never doubt my love for you." Hearing Sansa give voice to those precious words while she loves him sends his body and heart to the Seven heavens.

Eagerly Sandor arches his hips to meet her as her movements turn feverish. Suddenly Sandor feels her body squeeze his manhood tightly, Sansa attaining her peak as he reaches his own. Out of breath and giggling softly, Sansa collapses against his chest. "See, I can be as quick as need be, too, my wanton husband."

Laughing, Sandor tightly holds her against his body, too overcome with emotion to speak. Experiencing her love is still so very new to him, so very precious that despite the bond there are times when he cannot help but wonder if it is all a dream.

"I know, my love," she whispers. "I have wondered the same myself. But it is real. I am here with you now and I will never leave you. I am yours as you are mine, forever."

"As I belong to you, Little bird. What is it that you know?" He asks as he tilts her chin up to him, tenderly kissing her supple lips.

"I know that this all feels like a dream, just as you said," she whispers, caressing his jawline and running her fingers through his beard.

"Sansa, I said no such thing. I thought it," he frowns.

"Oh, truly? How very odd. I heard it in my mind as though you said it out loud."

"Aye, lass, I know. We best go speak to your brother at once."

* * *

With Nymeria following them, Sandor leads Sansa by the waist toward the entrance of the Eyrie facing the godswood, occasionally stopping to kiss his wife along the way.

Brynden Tully and Lord Royce meet them in the corridor. "The Stone Crows will be leaving at dusk, Clegane. Elder brother will also make for the Quiet Isle," the Blackfish sighs, exasperated.

"No shit. I bloody well heard them at breakfast," Sandor grouses as he releases her, annoyed by the interruption. Blushing, Sansa straightens her hair and smiles. Lord Royce chuckles low and nods at her.

"Must the two of you carry on in such a way in front of others?" Brynden sighs again, rolling his eyes and shaking his head at Lord Royce. "It is most unseemly."

"Bugger that. She's my wife and I'll fucking kiss her wherever I damn well please," Sandor snarls, pulling Sansa closer to his side.

"Sandor…" Sansa softly chides, blushing prettily once more.

"There's a good man, Sandor!" Lord Royce laughs, slapping him on the back. "Lord Tully, as a lifelong bachelor perhaps you do not appreciate the _unique_ gifts of newly wedded life. It's a dangerous thing to interrupt a man so newly wedded as Sandor."

"Lord Royce, you are most kind. Really, we are newly married after all, Greatuncle," Sansa giggles merrily, ignoring Sandor's dangerous air. "Pray, is there some way we may help you smooth the progress of their parting?"

"What Sansa meant to say is: _get to the point_ ," Sandor grunts, still fuming.

"Newly married or no, Elder brother has requested that you, Sandor, escort him out of the Vale for protection. The Stone Crows will go along part of the way but with your, shall we say, _fearsome_ reputation, he would be more at ease, preferring that you take him as far as the Inn."

"Damn it all to the Seven hells." Sighing heavily, Sandor turns to Sansa. "As much as I hate to leave you Sansa, the man did save my life." Pausing, he looks down at the little bird, taking her hands in his. "I hardly feel I can deny the old man, Sansa. He wed us, after all. It is a little thing that he asks of us. What say you, wife?"

Reaching into her skirt pocket, she retrieves Sandor's handkerchief. "Oh, husband, _must_ you go? We have only been together a few days." She asks tearfully, dabbing her cheeks and sniffing loudly.

The Blackfish shifts uncomfortably in front of them and turns away. "Really, Sansa, your mother must attend your manners. I expect you to control yourself in front of Lord Royce, young lady."

 _My undead mother who is now bent on vengeance will attend to my manners?_   Sansa simmers ruefully. "Forgive me, Greatuncle, this is so very sudden. I did not know when the men said wanted to leave they meant to take my _beloved_ away from me," she sobs out into the handkerchief.

 _Good girl,_ Sandor thinks, inwardly grinning at his wife's performance. _They won't question a crying woman._ "It will only be for a few weeks, lass and then I'll be back here with you."

Clutching his tunic, she sadly shakes her head. "Well, if you _must_." She pouts. "You are my lord and husband, after all. I cannot deny whatever you wish."

"Sansa will be safe with us, Clegane. Honestly, such a fuss over nothing! It will only mean a few weeks of travel and a temporary _curtailment_ to your other activities. Cat will be here soon as it is. Your untoward behavior must stop sooner or later."

"Bugger that. Bugger you." Sandor grimaces. Brynden looks about to respond when Sansa gazes up at Sandor and caresses his cheek. "Sandor, Uncle Brynden makes a good point. The trip will only be for two weeks at the most and perhaps it would be better if you were not present when Mother arrives. There is much she and I need to discuss and it would only bore you to listen. I…I think it best you not come across the Brothers without Banners, as well."

Watching Sandor softly regard his wife, Lord Royce chuckles and clears his throat, eying Brynden. "You offered the wrong approach, it would seem, Lord Tully."

"Want me out of your hair, is that it? Look, Little bird, I fucking well didn't wed you to spend my nights freezing my balls off on the road," Sandor growls, causing Brynden to roll his eyes and walk away.

"Clegane, we all know you as the Hound but really-must you use such coarse language with my niece?"

"Mind your own business, Blackfish," Sandor grits his teeth and turns to face him. "Or I'll show you coarse language."

Lord Royce chuckles. "Such is the way with newlyweds, Lord Tully. Come; let us leave them to their first quarrel."

"I'll allow you two you privacy to work out the details. Sansa, Sandor," Brynden grumbles, shaking his head. "Meet me by the stables before you go."

"Oh, Uncle, we must pray for everyone's safety in the godswood first and then I will ready my husband's things."

"The maid can do that, Sansa. Really, you forget yourself."

"I would not feel right entrusting my husband's belongings to another."

"Sansa! You sound like a smallfolk woman with such speech! What would your father say?"

"I do not know. My mother would pack his things when he journeyed away from Winterfell, Greatuncle."

_My father would say I shouldn't have to endure such indignity. My father is with us and knows my brother is helping us as we speak._

"Oh Brynden, come now. Such is the way of women. It's only natural she wants to take care of her new husband. Let the child be." Lord Royce admonishes, smiling at the newlyweds.

"As you wish, Sansa," the Blackfish mutters testily. "You be prepared at dusk, young lady."

"Yes, Greatuncle. Thank you-it is most kind of you to indulge me."

Once the men are gone, Sansa looks up at her husband worriedly. "Do you think I was convincing?"

Grunting, Sandor nods with a twinkle in his eye. "That you were, lass. Nothing like a woman's tears to make a grown man uncomfortable. Or childbirth."

"We must make haste to the godswood," Sansa nervously says, taking him by the arm.

* * *

"Brother! Bran, can you hear me?" Sansa calls softly as she enters the godswood hand in hand with Sandor. Nymeria curls up at the base of the Heart tree, whining softly and sniffing the dirt.

"Maybe we should offer prayers first," Sandor suggests softly.

"Yes, you are right."

After the couple spend several moments in supplication, a strong wind gusts through the godswood, sending the fallen red leaves of the weirwoods swirling around them. "Brother," Sansa whispers.

"Sandor, Sansa," Bran's soft voice echoes in their hearts. "Here me, the both of you. You must calm yourselves so you can hear me."

Desperately, Sansa clings to Sandor and wills herself to still the tumult in her mind.

"Take a few deeps breaths, Sansa, the way I showed you," Sandor whispers to her, squeezing her hand.

Slowing her breathing, Sansa empties her mind of her worries. After several moments she hears Bran's voice clearly in her heart. "Sansa, you must leave tonight. Lady Stoneheart is nearing. Jojen says she and the Brotherhood Without Banners will cross paths tonight with the party leaving the castle."

"You cannot see her yourself, Bran?" Sandor asks.

"She is shrouded from me, goodbrother. Howland says it must be the doing of the R'hllor. Do not fear; the old gods are far more powerful than he is, I swear it."

"Boy, are you certain? I mean no disrespect but in my experience everyone thinks their gods are the most powerful and their religion the right way." Sandor frowns, glancing at Sansa.

"Father has told me. In fact, Sansa, you might want to know that it was Father who interceded on your behalf with the old gods to bond you to Sandor."

"Father? He asked the gods to bond us?" Sansa chokes out as Sandor pulls her close. "Oh thank the gods! Dearest Father! He has been looking out for me this entire time!" When she gains control of her tears, she says, "I feared he would not forgive me for believing Joffrey's promise."

"That was Joffrey's wrong, not yours, Sansa. Father never blamed you. I saw him die, Sansa, and I never blamed you, either. Let go of your guilt, sister; you must not blame yourself any longer."

Silently Sandor thanks the Seven, for he too has feared that Eddard would not forgive him for the part he played the day of his execution. Sansa's voice stirs him from his thoughts. "Will we always be thus between us?"

"Yes, sister. It will last forever, in this life and the next."

Sobbing, Sansa bows low to the ground and reverently runs her fingers along the roots of the weirwood. "Thank you," she whispers. "You've given me far more than I ever dreamed I would have in this life. To have my beloved forever is the greatest gift." Sandor whispers his own thanks but Sansa is so intent on the Heart tree that she does not hear him.

"Sansa, we will be together soon. You must dry your tears, sister."

"Bran, my love, they are tears of gratitude, not sorrow. I beg you: entreat Jojen and Howland to help us escape tonight."

"Jojen has already seen your escape, Sansa. Sandor, you must keep her away from the main party of travelers tonight and rejoin them later. The Brotherhood and Lady Stoneheart will cross their path during the second quarter of the moon."

"But-but how will we do this, brother? I cannot find my way in the dark."

"You must trust me. I will warg into Nymeria and guide you to Sandor, Sansa."

"Can you do such from so far away?"

"Yes, Sansa. You should know that; you have already done so yourself. You just did not understand it."

Wringing her hands, Sansa frowns and shakes her head. "No, I do not believe so, brother. What makes you so certain of that?"

"I felt her connected to you, Sansa. It is not as powerful as it would be if you knew how to control it. Could you not feel her?"

"Yes, yes she was furious-vicious, even, and the closer she came to us the more intense the feelings became. It went away as soon as Sandor's blade came down on Petyr's neck."

"It is the Stark bonding with the direwolves. Father was also giving his approval of Sandor executing Lord Baelish. Your distress called to her and drew her to you, just as it called Sandor. We are all connected, sister. Your distress and prayers called to me through the weirwoods. Nothing could have prevented Nymeria from coming to your aid, Sansa. She loves being with you, I have felt it. She has been lost since Arya chased her away and you remind her of our sister."

"But how? We are so different," Sansa pleads. "Brother, I do not understand."

"You may be as different as the sun and the moon but the same blood flows through both your hearts and mine, Rickon and Jon as well. You need her, as she needs you…and I need both of you. Arya and Jon are coming to join us as well. I have called to them."

Sansa's tears fall freely as Sandor lifts her gently into his arms. "It's almost over, lass. You'll be with them soon."

"We will be with them, my love," she whispers, resting her head on his chest. "I will not be parted from you, not ever."

"I didn't mean it that way, Sansa. I meant you will be with your family."

"You are one of us, now, Sandor. You are part of our pack," Bran intones. "I feel the doubt in the both of you. It is to be expected but you must believe in order to escape. The gods have shown Jojen that you will succeed but only if you have confidence the old gods will help you."

"Yes, Bran, we believe," Sandor answers low, his declaration startling Sansa. "Help us when we waver, can you, boy?"

"Yes, goodbrother, I will."

"Brother, I promise as well," Sansa adds, squeezing Sandor's hand.

"Then tonight I will be with you," Bran quietly says before a large gust of wind flows through the godswood once more.

* * *

As the couple makes their way up the winding staircase, Lord Royce's son Andar calls out to the couple. "Clegane! Lady Sansa!"

"What do you want, boy?" Sandor grunts, eying the young man suspiciously.

"I have the coin owed the…woman you wished preserved, Lady Sansa," he says, holding our three large purses of coin toward Sandor.

"Oh!" Sansa says, understanding his words. "Thank you, Lord Andar. It is so good of you to handle this matter for us."

"It is my pleasure, my lady."

"I'll take it up straight away," Sandor says, whistling low as he fingers the large amount of coin carefully.

"Is it enough for her to establish another place of, well, business and a home?"

"More than enough," Sandor nods. "Meet me in our rooms, Sansa. I have an idea."

Sansa smiles and moves toward their chambers. Sandor waits for her to disappear before rapping sharply on Ros' door. Faintly the sound of moaning comes from inside the room.

"Ros, open this damned door. I know your fucking someone in there," Sandor growls, kicking the door in warning. "The next kick will bring it down, wench."

Ros jerks open the door in a see-through robe and smiles at him. "It won't help your case any to show me what I've already seen many a time," he growls, tossing her the coin pouches and walking inside.

Her eyes widening, Ros counts the contents greedily. "Most generous of you, Clegane, most generous indeed. You want me to give you wife a few lessons? It would be on the house," she teases apprehensively as she watches him jerk open the door to the bedchamber.

"Bugger that, wench. Anymore talk like that and I'll cut out your damned tongue. The Hound is still within me. Might be here now, even," he snarls, causing the smug look on her face to dissolve into fear. "You remember what I said if I caught you at this?" He grunts, drawing his katar.

"Yes," Ros falters, backing away from Sandor, all the while keeping an eye on his weapon. "Please, I'll leave right now-"

Moving through the solar, he sees one of Lord Andar's friends frantically pulling on his breeches. "Get dressed, you bloody bastard. I should geld you for disgracing my wife's family."

"Please don't kill us, Hound!" The young man begs as he pulls his tunic over his head. "I'll do whatever you say-pay you whatever you want! Please, I-"

"Quit your simpering, the both of you." Sandor growls. "You both want to live, do you?"

The sheepish pair nods, gaping at him incredulously. It is a rare thing to be given a second chance by the Hound, and Ros cannot help but think Clegane has changed, indeed, from the days he visited her in King's Landing.

"Then you both best do exactly as I say, no questions asked. Or I'll gut the both of you right here and feed your remains to my wife's direwolf."

"Of course, Hound," Ros whispers and nudges the frightened young man to answer him.

"Yes, Clegane, whatever you say."


	26. Warging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reviewing-it feeds the muse! This is the second to the last chapter and then I'll write a epilogue :) Thank you for sticking with it through all my ups and downs-you guys are the best!

Sighing heavily, Sandor's deep gray eyes simmer with fury as he glares at the pair. "Mayhaps I won't kill either of you just yet. I have another idea."

"Another idea?" Ros asks weakly, glancing at the young man beside her.

"I've got a job for the two of you, and you'll both do it gladly or else die right here. Your choice."

"Oh yes, Hound, whatever you wish! I have plenty of gold, and-" The young man begins, suddenly reaching into his breeches. With feline agility, Sandor leaps to his feet and edges the blade of his katar along the haplesss fellow's throat.

"Shut the fuck up, runt. If you so much as speak or even move without my leave, I'll cut out your tongue," Sandor rasps low. "That goes for you, too," he nods toward Ros. "What is your name, boy?"

"Ser Mychel Redfort of House Redfort, ser."

"I'm no ser," Sandor sneers, shaking his head. "You're old Bronze Yohn's goodson, aren't you? You wed his only daughter. He won't take kind to learning I found you rutting Littlefinger's whore," Sandor laughs, the sound like dogs snarling in a pit.

"No, ser-uh, I mean, no Hound. Please don't tell him! I've-I've been away from the wife a long time yet, and needed a woman's company! Ysilla and I were practically forced to wed, and-"

"Boy, I don't care if you fuck your way from here to King's Landing," Sandor snorts. "You're no different than the rest of these so-called honorable knights running around here. I won't tell the old man, but that's two favors you owe me now."

Knitting her brows, Ros asks, "What are you about, Hound?"

"I'll get to you in a minute; I'm not done with the boy yet," Sandor growls, looking him over. "You a good rider, Redfort?"

"Yes, I am. Quick as can be."

"Good. Can you write and figure?"

"Yes, my maester taught me as a boy."

Sighing Sandor sits down and takes a quill and inkwell from the desk in the solar. "Here. Write me out a bill of sale. You're buying my wife's mare."

"I beg pardon, Hound? You want me to do what? I already have a fine-"

Ros clears her throat and shakes her head at him.

"You got cotton stuffed in your ears? I said you're buying her mare. Sugar's the name," Sandor grunts, tapping his index finger on the parchment. "She's a fine destrier and you'll treat the animal well, you hear?"

"Yes, Hound."

"You will pay whatever I ask. Before dawn you'll ride for your family's seat like the Stranger himself is on your heels. Understand?"

The young man eagerly agrees. "Yes, of course. Anything you say, Hound."

"And you'll breathe not a word of it to anyone as long as you live, you hear me? If I ever hear it spoken of or that you have mistreated that horse in any way, I'll hunt you down and make you rue the day you were brought into this miserable earth," Sandor snarls mere inches from his face. After staring down the boy, Sandor reaches for Ros.

Dragging the startled woman to her feet, he shoves her toward the closet. "Get on a decent frock. You and I are going to see my wife."

"Here, Hound, here's the bill of sale. Just fill in the amount you want and sign it and it's done."

Grunting, Sandor looks over the document, fills in the amount and signs it. "Hand over the coin, boy."

"You want a _gold dragon_ for that horse?! And you want the currency in silver stags? Why?"

"Never you mind. Ask me any more questions and I'll change my mind about killing you," Sandor grabs him roughly by the shoulders. "The asking price is fair enough. It's easier than you'll get off should the Royces find out you've been whoring on their only girl, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, I suppose so…I-"

"Give me my coin and get out of my sight!" Sandor growls in his face.

"Here, here it is," the young man offers a full pouch with a trembling hand. Sandor counts the contents, the burned side of his face twitching as he does so.

"Good lad. Now do as I say. Not a word about this, you hear?"

"Yes, Hound," he stammers, gathering his clothes and fairly running from the room.

"Does it give you joy to scare people, Hound?" Ros asks shakily as she ties on her gown. "If you're going to kill me then get on with it. You once came to me out of longing for the woman you couldn't have. Doesn't that mean anything?"

Smirking at her, he shakes his head. "At one time it gave me joy to kill people, wench. Might be that time again. Come now, no more small talk," he grunts, dragging her down the hall to Sansa's room. "Since I caught you red handed servicing Mychel Redfort in the Eyrie, I expect you to get out of this fucking castle tonight."

"But, Hound, it will likely storm! I have nowhere to stay-please! It will mean my death!"

Sniffing, Sandor curls his lip and eyes her warily. "Aye that it might." Rubbing his jaw, he sighs deeply. "Mayhaps you can be of use to me yet."

Puzzled, Ros nods slowly. "Is it-is it Sansa? Does she need a bit of training in the marriage bed?"

"No, gods be damned-nothing like! I'll fucking slit your throat ear to ear if you say that once more!" Sandor shouts, jerking open the door to Sansa's rooms.

Startled, Sansa hurries into the solar while tying on her gown. She senses the Hound's fury in her husband and his anger diffuses through her body at his close proximity. Confusion spreads across her face at the sight of Ros being drug by the arm by Sandor and tossed into the chair in front of her. "Dearest, what has happened? I feel your anger."

"Ros has been trading right here under our noses," he grunts, slamming the door shut. "I went against my better judgment and allowed her to stay because that is what you wanted, wife."

Sighing, Sansa frowns. "Yes, you did." Sitting down, Sansa stares at the woman before her. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"I needed the money, Lady Sansa. I-"

"Bullshit," Sandor interrupts. " I was bringing you more than enough coin when I caught you. Don't you fucking lie to my wife right to my face."

"Ros, you cannot stay after doing such a thing," Sansa says quietly. "Sandor, please show her out."

"Oh, I'm not throwing her out just yet. Give her one of your soiled gowns and cloak from the laundry sack, Sansa. And a fur, too, if one's to be had."

The Houndish gleam in Sandor's eyes unsettles her, and so she swallows her questions and takes out the requested garments. "Here, love. These are not really soiled but I have worn them recently. Will that suit?"

"Good," he grunts with a nod, tossing them at Ros. "They just need your scent on them is all we need for my idea to work." Turning to his confused captive, he growls low, "You will put these on and meet Elder brother in the godswood tonight after we leave the Eyrie. You're going to ride out with him and the Stone Crows in the wagon, you hear me? They will take you to the Inn and you can go one your way from there."

"Alright, Hound, I will," Ros mutters, glancing between the pair. "I'll do whatever you say. You both have been, well, better than most would."

Snorting, Sandor jerks his head toward the door. "Away with you now. I'll be heading out with the others directly so you'd better be there."

Swallowing hard, Ros agrees. "Yes, Hound, I'll be there."

"See that you are or you won't live to see another day, I promise you," he says, slamming the door behind her.

"Come here to me, love," Sandor rasps quietly, discerning Sansa's nervous apprehension. "I won't hurt you, for all my growling. I never could, even before the bond."

"Sandor, dearest, what are you up to?" Sansa asks as he settles her on his lap in the window seat, relieved to feel his anger dissipating rapidly.

"In exchange for their lives, Ros and Mychel Redfort will be helping us tonight."

"But, how? I sense you feel comfortable enough but I still don't understand," she murmurs softly, twisting a lock of his hair around her finger.

"Do you trust me to take you away from here? Do you truly?" He asks, staring into her eyes while lightly brushing his knuckles across her cheek.

"Yes, Sandor, of course I do. Can you not feel it?" Sansa was sure he was reassured before and is surprised to hear him express his uncertainty.

Sighing, he tilts her chin up to him. "I failed you before, lass. I'll not fail again."

"No, Sandor, please, we spoke of this once before. I-"

"Just hear me out, wife. The night of the Blackwater battle I was so pissed that I scared you. I was so drunk in fact that I failed to ask you proper to go with me. Once I saw your fear I couldn't force you to go with me and like a coward I left you in the Red Keep. I've hated myself for it ever since," he pauses. "I'll not fail you tonight. We're leaving this place once and for all. I swear it on our marriage," he rasps low, kissing her hand and fingering the marriage sash at her waist.

"No, you mustn't say such," Sansa whispers, tenderly covering his mouth with her own. "You have not failed me. You were sick and in no condition to take me with you then. And I was not prepared for it then, either. The gods brought us together when we were both ready, and I am grateful. I never want to hear you speak of yourself in such a way ever again," she softly says, staring into his eyes. Placing her hand over his heart, she smiles up at him. "My husband, I know you can feel how deeply I love you. I hold no ill feelings toward our respective pasts. My only regret is that we were apart; but it was necessary, for both of us. Promise me you will let it go."

Drawing in a deep breath, Sandor closes his eyes and focuses solely on the little bird. A deep peace envelopes him; his heart swells as Sansa's love and his own love for her meld into a singular emotion, joining them as one. His beloved wife's devotion embraces him, settling into the recesses of his mind and heart until Sandor feels nothing but her love for him. The experience is so overwhelming, so complete, that the man can hardly tell where he ends and she begins. "I feel it, lass, I do," he rasps quietly. "I'll work on it."

Leaning in close, she nuzzles into his beard and gently kisses him once more. "I feel your love for me and your determination as well. This is the beginning of a new life for us, my husband. After tonight, we will no longer focus on the life we leave behind us." Sansa wraps her arms around his broad shoulders and Sandor pulls her even closer against him.

* * *

Later that afternoon Sansa, Lord Royce and the Blackfish distractedly watch as the Stone Crows and Sandor load down the wagon with supplies. Drawing Sansa away from the group, Lord Royce gently takes her by the arm. "These men will be at it for a bit, my dear. Let us take a turn around the stables while they work. What say you?"

Sandor raises his head and stares over at her, frowning. Sansa smiles at him and nods before replying, "Oh, yes, that would be lovely, Lord Royce." Nymeria dutifully rises to her feet and follows them.

Once they move into the stables, Lord Royce stops and turns to face her. "My dear, how well do you know your Great Uncle Brynden? Where you around him much as a child?" Sansa hears Stranger knickering softly at her presence, the sound reminding her to watch her words closely.

"Unfortunately not, Lord Royce. He came to visit a few times when I was little but beyond recognizing his appearance I know him not at all. Why do you ask?" Sansa smiles up at him, though Sandor's apprehension flutters in the pit of her stomach.

Taking a deep breath, Lord Royce frowns and shakes his head. "I have known your great uncle since we were boys, my lady. We have fought together, drank together, and laughed away many an evening together over the years."

"Oh, yes?" Sansa smiles kindly, wishing he would get to the point. "I am glad to hear he has such a friend in you."

"Well, this may sound most strange, my dear, but his behavior here is so very different from the man I have known all these years. I am most disturbed to see him thus changed."

"In what way?"

"In _every_   way, my lady," Bronze Yohn comments darkly.

"How do you mean?" Sansa asks, her voice rising slightly in a panic. _Is the red god affecting my uncle as well as my mother? Gods help us all…_

"I cannot explain it all to you, Lady Sansa. Brynden's conduct is so altered in so many ways I barely recognize the man. The manner in which he scolded you and your husband for being affectionate, for one; that is not the man I know. His solemn demeanor, the tolerance of the Brotherhood without Banners presence in the Vale, let alone in the Eyrie is unfathomable to me. Most of all, the utter lack of his normal sense of justice when it comes to the murder of Lady Brienne and her squire. Forgive me, Lady Sansa. I know it is your deceased mother's doing, and I know she is quite altered herself. Nevertheless it all is most disturbing to me as well as to many of the other men serving here."

Nodding slowly, Sansa takes his hands in her own. "My dear Lord Royce, I thank you for sharing this with me. I had no idea he was so changed, although I must say his behavior is nothing like how I have always heard him described. What do you think is the cause?"

"Forgive me my dear but I cannot say at present," he sighs, shaking his head once more. "You must understand, I am bound to do what is best for the Vale and yet I am unwilling to prematurely come to a false conclusion."

"Lord Royce, my father always respected you and spoke well of your family. I trust you will do whatever is best. I only ask that you please not hurt my great uncle. I have already lost so much family I do not think I could bear it," Sansa whispers, dabbing her eyes with Sandor's handkerchief.

"Oh no, my dear, I would not hurt him for the world. But the Brotherhood without Banners, however-" he shrugs.

"I trust your judgment, Lord Royce. You will have my support, I assure you, should you see fit to remove them. We must think of what is best for everyone. Lady Stoneheart is another matter. I am not sure how she will receive me or my husband. She is described by everyone as very different from the mother who raised me. I hardly know what to think."

"I understand your apprehension, my dear, more than you may know. I have known Lady Catelyn her entire life. I fear the sorcery that raised her is somehow behind all of this."

"You do?" Sansa asks, startled.

"Yes, well, it will all come out soon enough, I am sure of it. I am most relieved to hear you pledge you support as well, Lady Sansa. Shall we return to the group?"

"Yes, indeed. I must say goodbye to my beloved husband," she smiles shyly at him, wishing she could somehow convey this to Sandor before he leaves with the others.

Sandor is finishing tying the supplies down to the railing when Sansa and Lord Royce return. Closing her eyes, Sansa wills him to hear her, running over the conversation with Lord Royce in her mind as she does so. Glancing up at her, Sandor narrows his eyes and nods briefly at her before continuing his preparations.

To her surprise her great uncle hardly notices them. The Stone Crows mount their horses and say their goodbyes as Sandor saddles Stranger. Nymeria lies at her feet and watches his every move while whining softly, mirroring Sansa's sadness at seeing him leave despite knowing she will be reunited with him in a few hours.

After he hitches the team to the wagon, Sandor helps Elder Brother into the front seat and hands the reins to Rafe before approaching his wife. Yanking Sansa's body flush against his in front of everyone, Sandor wipes his face with a handkerchief and gives it to her. "I heard you, my love," he whispers before kissing her breathless, much to the amusement of the Stone Crows.

With tears falling from her eyes, Sansa blushes deeply and waves goodbye, following behind him as she watches Sandor turn Stranger toward the trail leading out of the Vale.

"Really, Sansa, is such a display necessary?" Brynden rolls his eyes at her. "The sooner your mother handles you, the better. I can only imagine what she will say when Clegane returns."

"Will it be soon, Greatuncle?" She asks, affecting a cheerful tone. "I am so very eager, you know."

"For your mother to arrive or for your husband to return?" He asks, eyeing her warily as he pats her hand.

"Why both of course, Greatuncle!" Sansa laughs merrily, struggling to hide her nervousness. "How you do tease me! You must have given Aunt Lysa and my mother quite the time when they were my age, you devil!"

Raising his eyebrow at her, he chuckles low. "That I did, child." After looking her over, he adds, "Your mother and her party should arrive tonight, as a matter of fact. Won't that be nice?"

"I look forward to this evening very much," she smiles, squeezing his arm. "Might I take the evening meal in my room, dearest Greatuncle? I do not wish to appear rude, it is only that I want to go to bed early so that I will be wide awake to properly receive my lady mother later on."

"Of course, child. I'll have it sent up directly."

After taking a leisurely bath so as not cause her maid suspicion, Sansa retires for the evening and takes her meal in her room.

When the maid comes to retrieve her tray, she asks, "Shall I light a fire this evening milady? The night is cold and crisp as anything."

"Yes, that would be lovely, Eliza."

"Is there anything more you require before I retire, milady?"

"No, thank you. Oh, wait, there is one more thing," Sansa laughs. "I will be spending the morning in correspondence. So many things have been happening around here that I have all but forgotten to send out notes of gratitude to all who attended my cousin's funeral."

Smiling, the girl nods. "I'm sure they took no offence, milady. You will find your inkwell, seals and parchment at the ready whenever you have need of them."

"Thank you, Eliza. I also wish to write a few love notes to my husband, as well," Sansa blushes and fidgets with her hands. "As you might imagine, I wish to be left in peace until the noon meal. If I am interrupted, well, I doubt I would find the courage to finish."

Smiling broadly, Eliza nods. "Of course, milady, I wouldn't dream of disturbing you. There is glue and lace in your top drawer if you wish to decorate them." Sighing, the girl clasps her hands together. "Such sweetness is the way with newlyweds! So lucky you are to have such love, milady. I hope to find it one day, too."

"Oh you will, dear, I am certain of it," Sansa smiles, taking her by the arm and leading her to the door. "Just leave my breakfast on the solar table and I will get it myself. Thank you, Eliza."

After maid is gone, Sansa lies down and tries to rest, fitfully tossing and turning, longing for the feel of her husband beside her. Unable to relax, Sansa eventually rises and sits in the window seat, staring out into the night. Her mind wanders to Sandor as she watches the movement of the moon slowly illuminate the path toward the godswood in an eerie translucent blue. Silently she offers prayers to the old gods and the new that she and Sandor will be able to escape the red god, Lady Stoneheart and the Brotherhood safely.

When the moon reaches the highest point in the night sky, Sansa puts on her warmest woolen smallclothes and shift. Stepping into her heaviest emerald colored lambswool gown trimmed in fox fur, she struggles to dress herself properly without help and then sits in the solar, waiting. "Bran," she whispers. "Hear me, brother."

Leaning down, she tenderly strokes Nymeria's luxuriant fur. The animal shakes her head and whines softly before rising to look Sansa in the face. Gasping, she watches in disbelief as the color of the direwolf's eyes transform from their natural yellow into her and Bran's Tully blue. _"I hear you, sister. Do not fret, I am here now,"_ she hears her brother's soft voice echo in her heart.

"Bran! You are one with her?" Sansa whispers.

_"Yes, sister. Follow me, Sansa. Do not be afraid, I won't let anyone harm you."_

"Oh, thank the gods!" Tears pearl in her eyes as she slowly nods and follows the massive animal toward the solar door. Wrapping her fur lined cloak around her shoulders, Sansa quietly sneaks out of the Eyrie with Nymeria loping in front of her. The animal moves silently through the snow as they hurry toward the godswood and Sansa carefully places each footstep into the animal's tracks so as not to leave any discernible prints.

Once under the icy canopy of weirwood trees, Sansa quickly offers prayers to the gods once more and then holds out Sandor's sweaty handkerchief for Nymeria to catch his scent. Immediately the animal darts into the deep underbrush, leading Sansa deeper into the wood towards her beloved. After what feels like hours to the anxious young woman, Nymeria lies down and wags her tail, whining softly. "Where is he, dearest? Is he safe?"

 _"Sandor is safe. He is making_ _his way up the river wash, sister, to hide the horse's tracks. He will find you shortly,"_ Bran's words whisper to her. Nosing the dirt of the river bottom, Nymeria emits a low whine followed by a short bark. Sansa raises her eyes to see Sandor leading Stranger across the rocky terrain on foot.

Gasping, Sansa runs toward him. _"Silence, Sansa!"_   Bran's words resound in her heart as Nymeria follows alongside her, wagging her tail.

"Little bird, at last!" He rasps low against her neck, gathering her up in his arms and kissing her thoroughly. "Thank the gods you're with me now. I just about went out of my head while we were apart. Is your brother here?" He asks, glancing at Nymeria warily.

"Yes, my love," she whispers, hugging his large bicep close to her chest. On the trail above them, the sound of the wagon's wheels grating along the rocky soil break the stillness of the night air. Raising her eyebrows, Sansa looks up at him questioningly.

"It's Elder Brother and the Stone Crows. Ros is with them as well," he whispers, pulling her up in his arms and squeezing her tightly against his chest once more.

Smiling brilliantly, she clings to him, whispering into the crook of his neck. "We are free! Oh my love, you did it!"

Brushing his thumb slowly over her lower lip, Sandor then caresses her face. Sansa sees a sudden darkness clouding his deep gray eyes. "We're halfway there, lass. We still must be cautious, Little bird."

 _"Quickly, hide in the underbrush downstream in the riverbed. Go now!"_ Bran's voice suddenly roars in their ears, shaking them out of their reverie. _"Do not move until I come back for the both of you! Swear it!"_

"I swear, lad. Don't you worry none, I've got your sister," Sandor growls low, drawing his greatsword and pulling Sansa along beside him into the dense thicket of young evergreen trees.

Snarling, Nymeria disappears up the side of the rockface. As the massive direwolf bounds up the mountainside toward the wagon, the sound of riders approaching reverberates against the granite walls surrounding the trail above them.

 _"It's Lady Stoneheart, Sandor!"_   Bran's voice whispers to Sandor on the wind. _"Don't let them find Sansa, goodbrother!"_

Glancing at Sansa, he recognizes she did not hear Bran's last words. "Come on Little bird, stay close to me now," Sandor mutters low, leading her into a narrow crevasse in the granite rock.


	27. The Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we've finished the story. I must admit I am a bit sad to do so. I originally started writing this to cope with the sudden loss of a close friend and it is time to move forward. I'll be updating this with an epilogue :D 
> 
> Thanks to all of you for your support, con/crit and encouragement! I truly have the best readers *group hug* I could not have written this during my cancer treatment without you. :)

* * *

 Sandor leads Sansa by the hand into the granite crevasse. “Come on, love, get in there now,” Sandor rasps low, his rough voice reverberating against the icy crag as they makes their way deeper into the narrow opening.

“This is far enough, my love,” Sansa whispers back, clinging to his arm in fear. “I wish to hear what is happening.”

Grunting, Sandor sighs and nods at her.

“What is it? Is it the Brotherhood Without Banners up there?”

A voice echoes down to them from the trail. “Where is such an unlikely group of travelers headed so late?” Sansa and Sandor look toward the trail, straining to see. In the moonlight the group is barely visible among the shadows.

Looking towards the road above them, Sandor spits in disgust.  “Yes, love, it is. I’d recognize Thoros’ voice anywhere. Buggering bastard.”

“Do you think Lady Stoneheart is with them?” Sansa hugs herself, trembling.

“You best believe she is with them,” he whispers, drawing her close. “We need to be silent, understand? That fucking fire god has ears.”

Sadly, Sansa nods, her eyes widening as the voices above them grow louder.

“Hold on to me, now, and offer your prayers in silence. The gods listen to you, wife. They’ve kept us safe so far. Your brother and I won’t let anyone hurt you, I swear it,” he whispers in her ear.

“I know, husband. I believe in you with all my heart,” Sansa replies, snuggling tightly against his chest.

Above them, the sound of horses grows louder. _There must be at least a dozen men up there,_ Sandor thinks to himself. He hears screeching of the wagon being pulled to a halt in the gravel.

“Good evening to all of you. You must be the party Lord Tully and Lord Royce are expecting,” Elder brother’s genial voice resounds a little louder than necessary, causing Sandor to chuckle. “The whole of the castle has been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

“Aye that we are.  We are the Brotherhood without Banners. Perhaps you’ve heard of us.”

“Indeed I have,” Elder brother replies.

“I am Thoros of Myr and this man to my right is Jack-Be-Lucky.”

“Thoros, Jack, I am Elder brother from the Quiet Isle. I am the spiritual advisor to Lady Sansa Stark. This is my attendant, Rafe and the lady is our fellow traveler, Ros. She is headed for the inn at the base of the mountains.”

Thoros grins and nods to the trio while side eying the Stone Crows silently approaching from the mountainside. “Easy there, men. Our archer Anguy here’s aim is true. You best not try him.” The Stone Crows pull rein on their horses and watch Carrig closely.

“I am Lem,” a man wearing a yellow cloak responds, stepping forward. Elder brother notes the man is easily as large and muscular as Sandor. “This one here is Lady Stoneheart, formerly Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell. She is our leader. Beric Dondarrion raised her from the dead for our noble cause.”

The sickeningly sweet odor of decayed flesh reaches Elder brother’s nose as she steps forward. “Nice to meet you my lady and you men as well,” Elder brother smiles cordially, trying not to gape at the decrepit creature before him. “Your brother is expecting you, my lady.”

Beside him Ros gasps audibly before quietly murmuring her own greetings. Lady Stoneheart approaches the wagon, staring closely at the young woman. Up close, Elder brother observes her ashen flesh appears spongy and is the color of curdled milk. Half of her hair is gone and the rest is white and has a fragile, brittle appearance. In addition, her extensive wounds have not healed. With her face covered in scratch marks and her throat still slit open, the undead creature still bears the marks from her violent end. Her hollow eyes follow him closely, unsettling the holy man. Silently the Elder says a prayer to the Seven for help.

“And what is this, now?” Thoros asks, gesturing at the Stone Crows in the woods surrounding them. “Why do a holy man, his attendant and his whore need the protection of a fierce mountain clan? And even if they needed it, how did they get such fellows to go along with it?”

“These men are members of the Stone Crows led by Chief Carrig there, on the buckskin to your right,” Elder brother replies, ignoring his comment about Ros. “He and his men assisted Lord Royce in the battle for the Eyrie. I would be careful giving voice to your assumptions as such men are not to be trifled with.”

Carrig quickly maneuvers his horse out of the brush with his sword drawn, nodding warily at the newcomers. “The holy man speaks true, Thoros of Myr. We’ve heard o’you and your lord of light.”

“How do, Carrig.  Just to be clear, you are the chief?”

“That I am,” Carrig allows, motioning for two of his men to come forward. “Don’t look so surprised. Get this one thing straight, Thoros: I don’t escort no one, lad, and make no mistake. You’re a long way from home so I’ll let one comment slide but you best mind your manners.”

“A most unusual collection of travelers, indeed. I didn’t catch where you said you are headed this time of night, Elder brother. Not going all the way to the inn, are you?” Thoros of Myr smirks, leaning in the saddle.

“That’s enough of you. You didn’t catch where they are headed because the holy man didn’t say, nor does he owe you an answer. You are in _my_ woods, not the other way around and I’ll be the one requiring answers, not you. Why do you care if they tell you where they are headed, anyhow?” Carrig sharply asks, his tone bringing forth yet more Stone Crow soldiers from hiding.

Lady Stoneheart emits a phlegmy gurgling sound and Elder brother turns to look at her questioningly. “She is unable to speak due to her injury?”

“Aye but we understand her. She says, ‘Where is my daughter and why are you in the company of Baelish’s whore? I have a right to know, clansman. My daughter is among you. I can sense her. I can smell her. Give her to me at once’,” Thoros interprets for them. “If you stand in our way, I’ll have my men kill you.”

“I’m too old to scare, lady. I have not seen your daughter since we left the Eyrie several hours ago. She is not with us-perhaps your sense of smell was damaged along with your voice. Ros is on her way to a new life,” Carrig shrugs casually before spitting on the ground.

Lady Stoneheart casts a long glance around her before emitting more gurgling noises, this time in a much louder, demanding tone.

“Lady Stoneheart insists Sansa is close by. Give her to us!” Thoros demands, drawing his sword and motioning for Lem and Anguy to come around the other side of the wagon.

The howling of wolves echoes off the granite walls through the area. A large raven circles overhead before landing on the wagon’s edge next to Elder brother. Nymeria leaps in front of Elder brother, baring her teeth and raising the fur on her hackles at the Brothers Without Banners.  

Startled by the sudden appearance of a direwolf, the men move back. Carrig laughs ruefully. “Bet you wish we were your biggest worry now, don’t you? You so-called _brave_ companions! Try your luck with that bitch and see how far you get!”

Hissing, Lady Stoneheart steps closer, loudly rasping at Elder brother.

“What is she saying?”

“Bran?” Thoros looks at her questioningly and she nods in response. “She is asking for her son, Brandon Stark. Is he here?” He asks as he scans the area, clearly puzzled by her words.

Elder brother closes his eyes and tilts his head. Faintly he hears the voice of a young boy offering his reply in his mind. “Yes, I am here. I have warged into Arya’s direwolf, Nymeria. You cannot sense my presence because Father will not allow you to harm me. I have changed Mother, and I am intimately connected to the old gods of the forest.”

Howling wolf song surrounds the area. It is an eerie reenactment of the events surrounding the battle with Lord Baelish, and Carrig and Elder brother nervously exchange glances. The raven caws next to the holy man and then takes to flight, circling the group overhead.

“Jojen and Howland Reed are here, too,” Elder brother replies. “Jojen is with the raven and Howland is among the wolves.”

The members of the Brotherhood glance around them anxiously. Lady Stoneheart sputters her reply, stepping closer to Elder brother and furiously staring him in the face.

“I know the red god R’hllor controls you now, Mother.” Pausing, Elder brother winces a moment and then adds, “Arya is far away from here but she is with us in her dreams. We will never allow you near Sansa.”

Lady Stoneheart blinks several times, slowly approaching the enormous direwolf while hissing out a response. “I must have Sansa and Arya, too. The girls and I must have vengeance for our family. I need them to gain the support of the north. You are too young to understand, Bran. Arya does, I sense it in her. Get out of my way,” Thoros replies.

“No, Mother, you are mistaken. Arya has learned to control her anger with the help of her friend Jaqen. This vengeful creature is not you. The old gods have shown us that it is R’hllor using you in an attempt to gain control of the north. Father revealed it to me personally and sent me to Sansa. The same god controls Great Uncle Brynden, though not to the same extent as you. It is a battle between ice and fire, the old gods and the new against the red god. Mother please, you must stop this at once!”

Shaking her head, Lady Stoneheart cries out in a fury and though her words are unintelligible, the bloodcurdling sound sends a shiver throughout the men assembled.

Frowning, Thoros reluctantly gives her answer. “Bran, no! It cannot be!”

“Mother, I know you feel the truth of my words in your heart. Father and Robb want you to let go. Go to them, Mother-join them in the afterlife. There you will find the peace the gods have given them and begin again.”

Distraught, Lady Stoneheart gurgles and shrieks, clawing at her face and throat. Suddenly she lunges toward Lem. Grabbing his blade, she loudly cries out before plunging the dagger deep into her belly, shrieking at the top of her voice.

“No!” Thoros shouts, racing toward her. “Lord of Light, her light has been extinguished, restore it-“

Nymeria howls long and sorrowfully, interrupting his prayer.  The massive direwolf positions herself between Lady Stoneheart’s fallen body and Thoros and Lem. Growling low, the beast continuously circles her, denying them approach. “Let her go,” Elder brother states as Nymeria bluff charges them, sending the men running in all directions.

Anguy raises his bow and arrow at the direwolf. Closing one eye, he carefully aims for the enraged animal. The raven swoops down upon him as he is about to loose his arrow, clawing and pecking the man’s face. “Call it off!” The man shouts while batting at the bird with his hands.

Falling to the ground, Lady Stoneheart hisses out her final words before pressing the dagger all the way to her backbone and slumping lifelessly to the ground. The wolves suddenly fall silent, casting an unnatural stillness over the forest.

Nymeria raises her head and emits another long howl. Against the backdrop of the full moon, the raven circles once more while cawing loudly overhead and then disappears over the ridge of the Giant’s Lance.

* * *

Deep in the rock below the trail, Sandor holds Sansa tightly against his body while listening to the happenings from a safe distance. Crying quietly, she squeezes her eyes closed, burying her face in his studded jerkin and grasping at his back for purchase.

Her fear envelops him, threatening to cloud his thoughts and judgment. “You’re safe, wife. Shh, it’s almost over now.” Sandor rasps softly, smoothing her hair. Breathing deeply, he allows the meditative peace Elder brother taught him to wash over his mind and heart. After a while he feels Sansa sighs softly and her muscles relax as his inner peace becomes her own.

Over the sound of shrieking, shouting and Nymeria’s howls, Bran’s voice softly declares to them, “It is done! Mother has gone to Father and Robb. Sansa, you must not be afraid. It is over, sister. Lady Stoneheart is dead and only the Brotherhood remains here now. Great Uncle Brynden has been released from the red god’s control, I sense it.”

“Thank the gods, brother! Sandor, please, let us go to them! The men will need your skill in battle!” Sansa pleads, pulling on his arm.

“Aye, we’ll join them,” he nods. “Easy Sansa, easy now; with ten Stone Crows and one angry direwolf up there, they need no help from me.”

“Don’t you want to take Thoros yourself?” She asks uncertainly. “I felt your rage and pain when you heard his voice.”

“No, wife. My job is protecting you. The others can bloody well take care of the rest of those bastards."

* * *

Trembling, Ros clings to Rafe as the pair stare around them in abject fear. “What is happening?” She whispers but the young man only shakes his head in disbelief.

“I’m going to get out of the wagon. When I do you two head down the trail and meet me at the base of the mountain in the morning,” Elder brother whispers. Rafe nods in assent, moving closer to the holy man on the bench.

Nymeria lowers her head with a frightening growl and then leaps onto a startled Thoros. “What were her last words? Tell me!” Elder brother relates to him, getting down from the wagon. Rafe takes the reins and heads down the trail unimpeded by the Brotherhood.

Kneeling down, Elder brother grimly stares at Lady Stone heart’s body, which suddenly disintegrates into ash at his feet.

The members of the Brotherhood all repeat the refrain, “For the night is dark and full of terrors.”

“Silence!” Elder brother commands. Snarling, Nymeria snaps at Thoros’ face. “She said…she said to tell her children that she is sorry. She…she could hear Lord Eddard and King Robb calling to her and that she is going to them,” the frightened man chokes out. “Men, this is the sorcery of the Seven! R’hllor is the one true god and all men must serve him! He cannot be defeated! Kill the septon!” Thoros shouts, pounding his fists against the direwolf’s chest.

At his words the rest of the Brotherhood draw their weapons and engage Carrig and the Stone Crows in battle. Elder brother draws his sword and stays beside Nymeria, who growls loudly once more. 

“This is for my goodbrother, Sandor Clegane. You falsely accused and tormented him, leading him to be horribly scarred. It is a just death,” Elder brothers states as Nymeria clamps her huge jaws down on Thoros’ throat, his shouting suddenly transforming into a high-pitched scream. His cries are reminiscent of Lord Baelish’s demise and Elder brother glances at Carrig once more.

Sansa and Sandor hurriedly make their way up the mountainside to the trail. The noise of steel clashing, Nymeria snarling and shouting resounds against the walls of the creek bed below, amplifying the frightening sound.

Unsheathing his greatsword, Sandor tucks Sansa close to him as they advance toward the battle. “Stay close, love.” As the couple reaches the summit of the trail, they are startled to see the battle is over.  The frozen ground is littered with the bodies of the Brotherhood Without Brothers and Sandor nods his head approvingly.

“They finally got what was coming to them,” Sandor says to Carrig, kicking Lem’s body with the toe of his boot.

Upon seeing them, Nymeria drags Thoros’ lifeless body toward Sandor and deposits the red priest at his feet. “I have seen justice for you, goodbrother,” Bran’s voice echoes in his ears.

“That you have, lad. Many thanks,” Sandor grunts, surveying the mangled body of his former tormentor. “The cave is dark but I’m the terror here,” he mutters.

“Arya says to take their heads Sandor, or else they may be brought back to life by a red priestess who she has seen with them once, someone named Melisandre. She’ll do to them just as Beric did to Mother.”

“I’ll take their heads with pleasure. Give the she-wolf my thanks; I had forgotten that,” Sandor growls.

Pulling Sansa close, he says low, “Keep your back turned, love. I’m going to finish this.”

“Of course, Sandor,” she nods, turning away. The huge direwolf wags her tail and slowly approaches Sansa.

“Thank you, brother,” Sansa says softly, placing her hands around Nymeria’s neck and nuzzling her face into the animal’s fur. “We are free because of you and Father and the Reeds. We will never be able to repay you, dearest, for all you have done. The gods bless and keep you, brother.”

Exhausted, Nymeria rolls her eyes and suddenly slumps down at their feet. “Mother is back with Father and Robb, Sansa. Forgive me, I cannot stay any longer.”

“But why dearest? I have missed you so!” Sansa says, stroking Nymeria’s fur. “Must you leave us?”

“The warging and bonding has exacted its toll on me and Elder brother as well. I am transforming, sister, in a way I cannot explain. Do not worry Sansa; I am becoming quite strong. You will see when you come to us.”

At his words Sandor turns to see Elder brother collapse next to the wagon. Rafe reappears from out of the shadows, and he and Sandor hurry to over to help him.  

“I had to join with him, Sansa, in order to speak to Mother. I should not have done so, I fear; he is not used to such things, though he did not fight me. He will suffer no lasting damage, sister.” 

“Brother, you did what you had to do. There was no other way. Sandor and I would not question your methods and I doubt the Elder brother will hold it against you, my love.”

Nymeria heaves a huge sigh. “You are right, Sansa; he was not angry. I sensed he wanted to help me and submitted even though I felt his fear. I am going now. Jojen will lead me back. I will find you again and lead you to us,” Bran whispers to her.

“We will come to you as soon as we recover from this night, brother.”

Nymeria’s head lolls to the side, rolling her eyes. “Goodbye, sister. Rickon and I will wait for you. By then Jon and Arya will be there, too. Our pack will be together again.”

Sansa nods. “Goodbye Bran. Dearest, I love you. Please tell Arya and Rickon and Jon that I love them, too. I so long to be with all of you again!” She sobs into the animal’s neck.

“The wolves will come again, Sansa,” he whispers. The direwolf raises her head and licks Sansa’s face, her eyes turning from Tully blue back to yellow once more. 

“Bran is gone, husband,” Sansa weeps quietly.

“I know, lass. I heard his words. We’ll join your family soon. There is nothing to keep us here now.”

Sansa leans down, raising her canteen to the weakened holy man’s mouth. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Ros bringing the wagon forward from the underbrush. Without a word she climbs into the back and arranges an area for Elder brother. “Is he very ill?” She asks worriedly.

“No, milady, he’s going to be alright,” the Stone Crow’s healer says calmly. “He just needs to rest. Warging is powerful magic and often takes its toll on both parties.”

“My brother said as much,” Sansa says quietly, bathing his brow with a damp cloth. “I had no idea it would cause such extreme exhaustion.”

“Don’t you worry, lass. A hearty meal and a good night’s sleep will set both your brother and Elder brother aright.”

Chief Carrig turns to Rafe. “Lad, you and the woman are welcome to pass the night in our camp. Rest up there as long as you like.”

“That is most kind of you, Chief Carrig,” Rafe replies as he looks over at Ros, who nods her assent. Several of Carrig's men help Rafe carry Elder brother into the wagon.

Fatigued, Sandor leads Sansa back to Stranger after the Stone Crows depart. “What say we go to Carrig’s cabin for the night?”

Tearfully, Sansa throws her arms around her husband. “Oh, yes, let us go there. It’s almost like a dream, my love! After spending so long apart from each other and then bound by so much sadness and misery, we are free at last.”

Burying his face in her hair, Sandor is overwhelmed with gratitude, an emotion the scarred man has experienced precious few times in his life until the past week. Sansa’s immense relief and happiness mingle with his own into a singular, powerful bond, strengthening their love and commitment to one another. “The gods be good, Little bird, we are free to love each other-free to be a family at long last.”

With soothed minds and contented hearts, Sandor and Sansa have witnessed their dreams become reality. In the respite that follows, the couple finally allows themselves to hope for a future infinitely better than the past, no longer bound by the life they have left behind.


	28. Saying Goodbye and Epilogue

Released from the red god, Brynden Tully quickly regains his senses.  Lord Royce and his sons notice the change at once and encourage him to search for Sansa after word of the battle reaches the Eyrie.

After much discussion, the couple rides out from Carrig’s cabin to speak to the Blackfish.  “I’ll keep you safe, Little bird. You need not fear those men. I’ll kill anyone who tries to harm you,” he snarls, strapping on his light armor and weapons.

“I know, Sandor. I believe it will not come to that, now that he is free of the influence of Lady Stoneheart. Let us hear him out,” she says softly, kissing him on the cheek.

“He’d best make sure he says all the right words, Little bird.”

“If either of us feel uncomfortable, promise me we will just leave, my love. I don’t want any more bloodshed if we can avoid it. Besides, he and Lord Royce are needed here in the Vale.”

“Aye, we’ll leave, but I’ll not make any promises. If they threaten you they are as good as dead. Don’t worry your head on that score.”

Upon seeing Sansa riding in front of Sandor with Nymeria loping alongside of them, Brynden is filled with regret. He is somewhat hesitant to approach the couple after all that has transpired. Still, the man is determined to plead his cause with her.

“ _Family. Duty. Honor._ There is far more at stake than you may realize. You must remember these things, Sansa, and let them dictate how you chose to handle this situation,” he says when they draw close.

“I will always remember the Tully words, Great Uncle. My mother taught me well. However, in my experience those words mean something different to each family member-Tully and Stark alike,” Sansa answers darkly.

“What do you mean, child?”

“My brother Robb chose what he felt was duty over family when he started the war. Later he chose family over duty when he married for love. Mother chose to help Robb gain the support of Seven Kingdoms over returning to Rickon and Bran.” Shaking her head, she gravely stares into his eyes, her words bitter on her tongue. “Even the Lannisters tried to ransom back Jaime from our family but no one, Tully or Stark, did the same for Arya or me.”

“Sansa, you must understand our position,” Bryden says, his eyes full of sorrow. “They would have never bargained with your brother-you were their key to the north. After you were wed to Tyrion, you were as good as lost to us forever. We thought there was no other way but to carry on the war. Forgive us.”

“You may find it hard to believe, but I understand, Great Uncle. It will take time for me to forgive, I am afraid. I suffered terribly under Lord Baelish’s control. I would have rather ended my life than stayed with him. I almost died,” Sansa replies softly, her voice breaking at her words.

Her declaration sends a torrent of rage through Sandor, his eyes boring into Brynden as he regards the man. Leaning in the saddle, he spits derisively. “It didn’t bloody well matter to you in the scheme of things, did it? You buggering high lords and your game of thrones.”

The Blackfish sighs and shifts in the saddle. “I deeply regret that I did not come for you, child. It was wrong to leave you with Lord Baelish.”

“I thank you for that, Great Uncle. However, I cannot be expected to overlook the fact that during this entire ordeal no one helped me or my brothers and sister. I have learned from the mistakes of others. Left to my own devices as I was, I will not leave Arya, Bran and Rickon in the same manner for the sake of some misplaced honor and duty. My Father saw what was happening to me and acted from the afterlife. I begged the gods to help me and he made an extraordinary effort to help me and our family.”

“That he did, lass,” Brynden agrees.

“When no one came for me, he saw the need to bond me in the Stark way with Sandor Clegane, the only person who ever cared to help me. It was he who cared enough to come to my aid, though I had not seen him in many years.  I am most grateful to Father.  You must understand that I am determined to honor my beloved father’s wishes and take care of our family first.“

“Sansa I am not denying that we failed you. I know you suffered terribly and I deeply regret it. But give your future actions some consideration before rushing to a decision. With the Starks and Tullys united under one banner, we can take back the north and who knows how far we may go from there. We can put an end to the bloody Lannisters once and for all.”

“I am not interested in revenge or the Iron throne. I do not seek rulership; I only want what is best for my family. Father has assured me and Bran that our family seat will be restored to us in good time. Great Uncle, _winter is coming_. My brothers and sister need me, and my family must be reunited before then. It is the only way we will survive.”

Brynden solemnly nods, knowing Sansa has been trained as a Stark from infancy to prepare for the coming hardships of the long foretold winter.

“You and Lord Royce are more than capable of taking over the Eyrie and ruling the Vale. It is time for me to do what is best for my brothers and sister, and for the north. The gods brought Sandor to me, and they saved us both for this purpose. I will not spend another day in the Eyrie, Great Uncle, nor will I seek any revenge for what has been done. It is time for the wolves to return north.”

“Sandor, can you not persuade her? You are a man of battle; surely you can see our side of the matter.”

“My wife has had far too many men make decisions for her in her young life; I’ll not be one of them,” Sandor rasps harshly. Turning to Sansa, he says, “We’ve talked enough. I’ll take you to your family as soon as you are ready, Little bird.”

“I must honor the will of my father and of the gods, as well as the sacrifices that have been made to help me, Great Uncle,” she says softly, nodding to Sandor. “Let us say goodbye on good terms and gods willing, we will see each other again.”

“You are a true Stark, Sansa,” Brynden smiles sadly. “Go find your siblings with my blessing. The gods go with you child. We will handle matters here.”

After saying their goodbyes, Sandor and Sansa next travel deep into the forests of the Vale, eventually meeting up with Elder brother and the Stone Crows. Sansa gifts Chief Carrig’s clan with several cases of wine and ale as well as many of the jewels she received from Petyr Baelish as a reward for their help. In turn, Chief Carrig provides the couple with food stuffs and a wagon for their journey.

“Sandor, I never thought we would have such an advantageous kinship the day you offered to help me with my wife,” Carrig laughs, slapping him on the back. “The old gods go with you, boy.”

“Many thanks, Chief Carrig, for everything,” he replies as Sansa tearfully shakes hands with the clansman.

“I can never thank you enough for all you have done for us. You will always be welcome in our home and at our table, Chief Carrig. I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

“Sandor, Sansa, I regret to say our time together has reached an end. Let us part ways,” Elder brother says, shaking his hand. Making the sign of the Seven over them both, he says, “Go to your future with the blessing of the gods.”

“Will you not consider coming with us, Elder brother?” Sansa tearfully asks, grasping his hands in her own. “I cannot bear to leave you this way after we have endured so much together. I know Bran would love to meet you. He regrets he needed to, well, use you to speak.”

“It was the will of the gods, child. My destiny is on the Quiet Isle, as yours and Sandor’s lay before you in the north. I am very grateful I was able to share in helping you reach the place you are in now. May the gods continue to bless and keep you both.”

After many tears, the couple departs from the Stone Crows camp with Nymeria closely following behind them. In a moon’s turn of hard travel, they reach Greywater Watch, the seat of House Reed where they are reunited with Rickon. Meera leads them to Bran, and at the great weirwood tree the family is  reunited at long last. Later, Arya and Jon arrive and after an extended stay, they receive a raven from Castle Black announcing that Winterfell is freed of the Boltons and it is time for the Starks return.

* * *

During the time the family spends with the Reeds, Jon relates how Daenerys Targaryen returned to Westeros and sacked King’s Landing with her dragons. In exchange for his life, Varys brought the new queen irrefutable proof that Jon Snow is in fact her nephew: a handwritten letter with the Targaryen seal from her brother Rhaegar to Lord Eddard Stark announcing that Lyanna is carrying his child.  Within its contents Rhaegar pleads with him to turn Robert away from King’s Landing for the sake of the babe, whom he believes will be born at any time. Rhaegar says he had a dream that the child will be a boy that he will name Jon.

Overjoyed to have found another Targaryen, Queen Daenerys granted Winterfell to Jon Snow and named him the heir to the Iron throne. His first act of office was to go to Greywater Watch and wait for the raven stating the time had come to return his brothers and sister to their family home once and for all.

Rickon is made Warden of the North and eventually takes Shireen Baratheon to wife.

Bran and Jojen return to the Children of the Forest and though the family no longer sees them as they once were, both the Starks and the Reeds often visit the weirwood grove.  Throughout her life, Sansa hears Bran’s voice on the wind, comforted to have such an intimate and otherworldly connection to her brother.

Arya is reunited with Gendry Waters, who since they parted have learned he is a Baratheon. After an extended courtship, Arya finally agrees to marry him on the condition that they will stay at Winterfell and she will not be made to become a proper northern lady.

Once spring returns to the Seven Kingdoms, Jon grants Sandor and Sansa their own castle built on the northern lands of Winterfell. Eventually the Cleganes are blessed with a full house, six boys and two girls and enjoy a long full life in the north. Sandor and Sansa invite Elder brother to serve as maester in their home and thus their children grow up educated by the holy man who brought them together.

When the children are old enough, Sansa tells them the story of how she was held in a castle buried deep in the snows of the Vale until their Greatfather Stark sent their father to rescue her. Sandor snorts from behind his wood carving as she carefully relates the much edited tale but is secretly pleased to see the children all listen with rapt attention.  As they grow up, Sansa makes sure that each child comes to view their father as the hero and honorable man she has always seen in him.

When Sansa falls gravely ill in her elder years, the bond between her and Sandor has interwoven their hearts and souls to the degree that one cannot live without the other. Laying in each other’s arms one night surrounded by family, Sansa and Sandor take their final breath as one.

Together they awaken to find Bran’s dream that their bonding would last throughout their lifetime and into the next has come to fruition. In the afterlife, Sandor and Sansa are reunited with the family that went before them, forever joined by the love and bond made in the lives they left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes it was a bit fluffy but I love our favorite couple and so I had to give them a happy ending. Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting on this story. :D


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